Welcome all to this lovely little fic, a plot bunny that struck while listening to the song
"As Long As You're Mine" from the musical Wicked. Although the song has a generally upbeat tone (I highly recommend you give it a listen) this story is a bit on the darker side.
Many kudos, high-fives, and awesomeness points go to Breejah0923, who agreed to beta this work. Go check out her stories, they're pretty fantastic!
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Jareth looked over the battle plans with excruciating detail. His brows were furrowed and his lips were pressed thin. No matter what move they made there were going to be casualties, it was only a matter of reducing the number. They were currently winning, but of course, that was a relative term. Winning the war in favor of his lord was the standard, but the cost of the imminent victory, to both sides, felt the same as a loss. Crops were devastated, warriors and innocents alike slaughtered, and the once gentle rolling hills of this country were forever marred. His calloused fingers traced the lines indicating the little rivers that traveled through this territory, the parchment scritching with the friction. He turned a weary eye toward his lieutenants, each awaiting his next command, and each as battle worn as he. He straightened himself and passed a hand over the map, giving life to the tiny ink marks that represented the legions at his disposal. As he began to speak, the marks acted on his command, demonstrating their next moves.
"Arduinn, you will take the first and second battalions and follow the river Tyrix, coming along the side of their encampments here," he pointed to the map where a group of red dots paused, "Damil, you will lead the fifth and sixth battalions along the edge of the forest here, and wait at this spot." A group of blue dots moved this time, coming to a rest just at the edge of a large forest. "Keep to the shadows, walking just inside the tree line. We need the element of surprise for this plan to work. At first light, your soldiers will move in from these directions," He paused as they watched the swarm of black dots close in on the enemy's tents, "While Llyr, Nisien, and I lead the third and fourth battalions straight at their encampment, hopefully distracting them enough that we can flank them, and finally end this war."
They each nodded, their silent agreement echoing their need to return home, their desire to leave this all behind. Five years had been longer than they had anticipated, much too long.
"We march in four hour's time. Until then, you are dismissed." Jareth breathed a long sigh, the weight of today's reports heavy on his mind. All but one lieutenant left, eager to get some rest before they had to rally the troops. Llyr came up to him and clapped a hand on his shoulder.
"You've been looking worse for wear lately. Is something troubling you, cousin?" His eyes searched Jareth's face, looking for some indication of what he was feeling. "You need to watch how you carry yourself, Jareth. If the troops see you questioning the campaign, they will lose faith in the king." Jareth grabbed his elbow affectionately, his eyes meeting Llyr's.
"I know better than you the burden of carrying the image of the crown. I will not falter. There is nothing more than the usual that causes me concern. This war… I have reached my fill. The land and the people have paid for this war thrice over. I want to be finished of it." He dropped his hand and made for the flap of the tent, pushing it back. He watched the men outside, many sitting around fires eating dinner, others practicing their elemental magics. He hesitated before stepping outside, turning to face Llyr once more. "I am retiring until it is time for us to move out. See that no one disturbs my tent until then. I leave you in charge." With that, he left.
Llyr crossed the distance to stand in the entrance of the tent, watching Jareth as he made his way across the encampment, his black cape billowing behind him. He narrowed his eyes and drummed his fingers along his thigh. At that moment a scout passed him, on his way to give a report to his commanding officer. He waved him down, gave him a series of commands, then retreated to his own quarters.
As Jareth entered his tent, he stripped himself of his black leather gauntlets, greaves, and boots, tossing them to the end of his cot. He reached up and unfastened his breastplate, setting that on its stand. He had felt weighed down by the armor, regardless of how it was enchanted to feel light and easy to move in. It carried the burden of years of campaigns, some noble and some not, all of which he wished to leave behind. He had served his king for decades, and now he yearned to be free of of his command, free to pursue a calmer life. He slipped out of his white linen shirt and breeches, and poured the water from the waiting jug into the basin and washed himself as thoroughly as he could, changing the water once in the middle of his ministrations. When he was finished he clothed himself in a black jerkin and breeches, and pulled on his boots once more. He strapped his sword to his side and donned a midnight black cloak, throwing the hood over his head and just past his eyes. He took a look around his tent before he extinguished the oil lamp with a wave of his hand and exited from a back flap. He picked his way along the many tents, staying to the shadows and avoiding the flickering light of the campfires. His feet bore him swiftly and silently, but in his haste he never noticed the pair of eyes that followed his every move.
Thirty minutes later, as he picked his way across the countryside, his target came into sight. A small dilapidated barn rose before him, a hole in the roof and the doors barely hanging on. He pulled open the door, the hinges squeaking and the wood creaking in protest. He stepped inside cautiously, his eyes squinting to see as the last rays of light from the sinking sun left only the first few feet in front of him visible. He could hear the evening calls of the birds that rested in the trees nearby becoming more subdued as twilight fell. He turned and pushed the door closed, bathing the room in darkness save for one shaft of light that fell from the barn's only westward facing window. As he began to walk toward that light, a figure leapt from the rafters, landing neatly in front of him, holding a dagger to his throat.
"What have we here?" A lilting voice drifted from the figure. Jareth's eyes roamed over the face before him, taking in every detail of the woman who held the sharp blade against his skin. Piercing jade green eyes bore into his, and her lips were quirked in the corner, amused to have found him off guard. Her sable hair was tied neatly at the nape of her neck with a leather strap, and her clothing was tight, benefitting quick movements but also leaving little of her sinewy body to the imagination.
"Sarai." The name fell from his lips like a prayer, hushed and reverent.
She lowered her dagger, sheathing it, and rushed forward to crash her lips on his. His hood fell to his shoulders, revealing his shaggy blond hair. They kissed hungrily, needily, like two beings starved from contact. When finally they parted, the sun had gone completely, and Jareth summoned a light with a word. It hovered in mid-air as he held her, the light casting ghostly shadows across her face. He leaned forward, kissing her cheek as he whispered in her ear. "Withdraw your troops."
Sarai growled. "You know I can't do that. You have your obligations, I have mine." She turned away, frustrated.
He crossed his arms, equally as frustrated, but seeing no other option. "We attack at dawn. It will be a bloodbath! There is no future for us here. Not like this."
"You say there's no future for us. I know this, but… I... I don't care. Just for this moment, as long as you're mine now, I don't want to think about what can or cannot be."
He came up behind her, his arms snaking around her hips. He nuzzled her neck and she leaned into his arms. "Then come with me. Surrender your position as general, forsake your work as an assassin, and join our ranks. With your knowledge we could bring just as swift an end to the war but with far fewer casualties."
She sighed then, the sound laden with sorrow. "And be labeled a traitor? Even if your countrymen would treat me well, King Cian would have my entire family killed. No, there is no other way. We will play our parts, and come dawn, our tale will end. I wish I could have known you before all this… in some other time, in some other kingdom."
Jareth brought his hand up to her shoulders and turned her, slowly threading one hand through the hair at the nape of her neck. He kissed her again, softly this time, memorizing the feel of her lips on his. He held her fiercely, acutely feeling each moment pass in every beat of his heart. His lips began a trail from her mouth down her neck, and he paused when he kissed the hollow of her throat.
"I mourn the loss of every day we will never have together. But here, now… every moment that you are mine, I'll wake my body and make up for that lost time." He brought his lips back to hers as his hands travelled the planes of her body, finding the ties that held her shirt tight to her skin. She moaned as his hands found their way beneath the fabric, caressing the delicate skin beneath.
Her fingers flitted to his neck and unfastened the cloak, letting it fall to the floor without ceremony. As she began to undo each button of his jerkin, she let out another low, husky moan when his mouth found her breasts. Her breath came in pants when she spoke next.
"Let us borrow the moonlight, stretching every minute. When it is through... come morning… remember I was here tonight, holding you." She traced the hard lines of his chest, feeling every scar from battle, relishing every sensation his mouth left on her. The moment was short lived, however, when a voice snarled from the doorway.
"Traitor!"
Jareth's head snapped up, his eyes wide. Sarai gasped, her hands flying to both her daggers. Jareth's brow furrowed and his mouth twisted into a scowl at the sight of who stood there.
"Llyr!"
The man strode forward, brandishing his sword. "You would betray your country, your king… your father… for this whore who would turn you against us?"
"You know nothing of who I am!" Sarai yelled, anger coursing through her veins, making her face flush.
Llyr sneered, his eyes narrowed. "I know enough of you, Sarai of Tanalyn Leigh. Your face is a hard one to forget, even when it is only lit by magic and moonlight."
She raised one dagger, pointing toward his chest. "I do not know you. I don't know what you play at, but I'll just as soon thrust this between your ribs should you take one more step forward." She spoke through gritted teeth, her eyes narrowed.
Llyr laughed mirthlessly, even as Jareth's sword joined Sarai's dagger to point at him, flames licking down the steel. "No, you wouldn't know me. I watched from the shadows of the doorway as you climbed through the window of my parent's bedchamber and slit their throats as they slept. You didn't even bother to check the room, leaving as swiftly as you came. I stayed there, watching their blood stain the bedclothes."
Jareth inhaled sharply, the surprise etched across his features. He looked at the woman by his side then, taking the new information into account. He didn't doubt its truthfulness, though he supposed he knew more about her past and the probable cause of the incident. No, this wouldn't change his feelings for her, nor his distaste for war and the situation at hand. Even as he studied her, Sarai stood still and stoic, the words washing over her now indifferent face. She knew when her emotions would benefit her, and this was not one of those times. He knew she would have stowed her anger for later, for battle, just as he had done so many times before. He turned his eyes back to Llyr just as she spoke.
"I did what I had to do, nothing more. I had no use for killing a child."
"That does not absolve you from your crime. And you, cousin..." Llyr practically spat the word, "I expected more from you. You were like my brother, yet here you are, with her. You expect me to believe your involvement with her would not impact the outcome of this war?"
Jareth felt his blood run hot. "I did not ask for his war! You know this conquest was stemmed from father's foolish desire to own everything before him, to rule more than he could ever possibly hope to control. He is a tyrant!" He knew where this argument would end. Llyr had been raised alongside him when his aunt and uncle had been murdered, and his father, King Faolan, took particular interest in him when he began to demonstrate the same ruthless attitudes he possessed. He was blinded by his own ambitions, driven by revenge, and though Jareth loved him, he knew that nothing would come between Llyr and his goals. Nothing would come between him and his desire to have Sarai dead before him, even if Jareth, the crowned prince, was her lover.
"You lie! The king will unify these countries. He will show these heathens how to truly live… or die, if they must." Lightning began to crackle around his right hand, the light illuminating his face, making his angry leer look ghoulish. "I'll make a point of severing her pretty head and presenting it to him. He'd love that… the head of his greatest rival's general on a platter to decorate his feasting table. Perhaps he'll even make me crowned prince in your stead… once I tell him she murdered you and that I, as a brother, avenged your death."
"I'd like to see you try, fiend!" Sarai shouted.
She lunged, her daggers scraping the blade of his sword, the metal ringing loudly in the nearly empty barn. Llyr turned and swept her attack away with a swing of his sword, bringing the blade up just as Jareth's sword came down, blocking his attempted strike. The flames were hot and seared the skin on his hand, but Llyr showed no reaction to the pain. He raised his hand, the crackle of energy skittering along his fingers. He aimed for Jareth's face, the arcs of lightning aiming true, blinding him and blistering his cheek. As Jareth roared in anger, Sarai dipped low and swiped her leg out, hitting Llyr's ankles and forcing him to his knees. The sudden loss of balance distracted him and gave her another chance to swipe at him with her daggers. The blades caught his shoulder, opening two long, jagged gashes. He yelled out in pain and slashed with his sword, slicing through the back of her knees. She fell, rolling to her side, her daggers flying from her hands. Jareth, having recovered, launched a ball of flames at Llyr's back. It made contact, and the smell of burning cotton and hair filled the air. Llyr spun on his knees, throwing bolts of lightning toward Jareth, then scrambled after Sarai when he ducked. Another ball of fire flew past his head, igniting the old hay in the corner just as he reached her. She strained to reach her daggers, just inches from her fingertips. He reared back and plunged his sword through her back, cackling with delight at the sound of her scream.
"NO!" Jareth howled. He reached Llyr only seconds too late, his sword making a wide arc and cutting him across the back. Llyr grunted in pain, falling forward beside Sarai, her body already still. His hands reached forward just as Jareth flipped him. "You will die for what you've done!"
Llyr's hand flung forward, one of Sarai's daggers flying from his hand and embedding itself in Jareth's chest just as his sword came down through Llyr's neck, killing him instantly. Jareth sunk to his knees, a gurgling sound rising from his throat as his lungs filled with blood. He reached over and pulled the sword from Sarai's back and flung it across the floor. He struggled to turn her, his breath coming in ragged gulps. When she was finally upright, he caressed her face, leaving bright crimson streaks across her pale cheeks. He slumped across her prone form, his head on her chest as he breathed his last.
Many hours later, the sun broke over the horizon, rose gold slivers shone through the window delicately touching the bloodsoaked floor, and the sounds of battle could be heard echoing through the small valley the barn lay in.