Nineteen: Sunshine on the Wasteland (Part One)
A/N: I AM SO SORRY IT HAS TAKEN ME THIS LONG. You have no idea how sorry I am. But I have been SO busy, so run off my feet, but I swear I have spent an hour or two each day just working away at this story. I was going to make you wait for a really long final chapter and then an epilogue, but I've decided to just split the final one into 2 parts for you. I'm so sorry for the wait, but there were just times that it felt like I was pulling teeth with this one, and I don't believe in pushing something that doesn't want to flow. But I'm getting on track finally, and will probably be done with part two by next week.
Again. So sorry.
Also, is anyone else going through a second/third/fourth phase of renewed grief? When will the realisation sink in that David is gone? It keeps hitting me. I did something very special for myself though, which was totally meant to be. For months I have been putting together ideas for a Bowie tattoo, something that sums up my love for his music. And then finally, after figuring out an image, I booked the appointment for Sunday January 10th. When I sat down to tell the tattooist what I was after, Bowie started playing on their stereo. I took that as a sign. The next day I heard the news, that it had been the 10th when he left us. Coincidence? I like to think not. I now have a watercolour image of a young Bowie smiling down over my shoulder with lyrics from RocknRoll Suicide. It's a painting that I did myself, and the woman did it spectacularly on skin for me 3
P.S: Poem 'You, Therefore', that Jareth murmurs to Sarah, is by Reginald Sheperd.
Nineteen: Sunshine on the Wasteland (Part One)
Brynn had always believed in logic. Well-thought-out reasoning was the cornerstone of his existence. When fools were blinded by prejudice and melodrama, logic was undeniable. He'd had a productive few centuries thanks to unwavering belief in this system. Many a civil riot and political watershed had been quelled thanks to his level-headedness and aversion to bias. Sarah had her own views of what constituted logical reasoning, which clashed with his own more often than not.
Despite this, she was also what he believed in.
Why? There was little explanation. She was important to the Domain for her control over the hordes, but he knew that was not the answer. It didn't sit right with him – which in itself was a way of thinking he'd never considered before meeting Sarah. Battles were not won by listening to the things thrown about in the core of your heart. So why did Sarah win so many arguments by doing exactly that? It must be how the humans debate. She's well-practiced. But her thirst for dispute irked him. There was a world of difference between being right and doing right, and Brynn was concerned that Sarah didn't quite understand that yet. She would, with time and age. Wisdom often sprouted from the ashes of childish obstinacy. The problem was the years in between. There would be trying times in the future while she learnt how to navigate her morality safely. And despite what she thought she wanted, he would be there to guide her through. The less mistakes she made as Goblin Queen, the better. If they never became companions because of it, then so be it.
Such a whirl of thoughts would be enough to drive others to agitation. Brynn merely continued his wandering of the Castle halls, in search of a room to claim as a study. And possibly in search of Sarah - whichever he happened upon first. He was not agitated. Still, he had to wonder at what she'd done to make him so determined. Sarah was impressive when it came down to it. She was imbued with strength and brevity beyond her years, only lacking experience. It was a troubling composition in the wrong person but in Sarah it just meant that she needed guidance. If she was to secure the Labyrinth Throne effectively for the next few centuries, there were things she needed to learn. And Brynn would teach them to her, whether as a friend or an advisor.
He'd just left behind a stream of pointless rooms – really, who needed snippets of sandy shores and midnight snow drifts? – when his searching proved fruitful.
Voices around the corner, growing closer: he paused in silence to hear them.
"– better equipped to help you if I knew what was happening."
"I don't need your help with this."
"Are you sure about that? You don't look half distressed, love. What did he mean by vis –"
"– Ooph!"
Sarah collided with Brynn; Jareth crashed into Sarah. He managed to stop her from kneeing him mid-step but they had to take a moment to disentangle themselves. Strangely enough Sarah looked relieved at the sight of Brynn, but Jareth only had eyes for her. It was careful scrutiny that the other man directed over Sarah's shoulder, a gaze that fell somewhere near her collarbone with equal parts curiosity and worry. Brynn ignored him and addressed Sarah with all the formality he could muster. Their disagreement was only recent, her eager smile confusing.
"I was hoping to run into you," she offered into the brief silence.
"Not quite so literally, I hope," he replied stiffly.
Jareth drew in a breath to speak; Sarah heard – or rather felt it at her neck – and rushed forward with a slightly panicked look. "I wanted to apologise about earlier," she breathed out quickly. "Can we talk?"
About what? She'd made her views clear enough. "I don't –"
"Wonderful, thanks." She snatched up his arm tightly – were all humans this erratic? They lacked much in the way of grace and manners. Or at least they did when it came to handling Brynn. For Jareth she was a swan, balancing on toes to plant a tender kiss to his cheek and murmur platitudes. The looks they shared were ones Brynn rarely saw between his own kind, full of such intimacy that he turned away. And then she was all fuss and hurry once more, hauling Brynn down the corridor and muttering under her breath.
They passed a few skulking menaces along the way, goblins lurking in alcoves and slipping back into the shadows. He was used to paying them no mind, but Sarah's equal disinterest only impressed him further. They were not creatures so easily dismissed, unless one had a strong stomach. She stopped only when they'd zigzagged around enough that he was certain she'd meant to lose Jareth. The quick glance she threw down the corridor confirmed his suspicion. "I need you to do something for me."
"I thought you wanted to talk about our conversation earlier?"
"That was just to stop Jareth breathing down my neck." Her impatient look clearly said he was to be quicker on the uptake. "I stand by what I said before. But that doesn't matter now. I need you to talk to Lina for me."
"About what?" He wasn't one to waste time being surprised.
"I think she's going to try giving her years to Jareth."
"What makes you think that?" Nor on shock.
She was used to his easy acceptance of things by now, which he was grateful for. It made conversations faster. "I have some of Jareth's magic. Apparently. And I've been seeing bits of his possible future. The visions change a lot, and contradict each other, but the one thing that comes up the most often is Lina sacrificing something for her brother." There was worry in her expression but determination outweighed it. "We can't let her do it. Jareth can't lose her like that."
It wasn't often that he felt conflicted. Where was the logic in denying something fated to happen? But then, what kind of future would the Domain have with a mortal Queen? And further still… "Wouldn't our involvement be interfering in a personal choice? That's what you have been concerned about, yes? People are allowed to make mistakes, Sarah. Isn't that what you inferred yourself?" Maybe he was agitated.
"This is different and you know it," she said heatedly. "This is life and death."
"Everything is life and death. We are all living and dying at the same time."
Sarah rolled her eyes. "What is it with you people and philosophy? I'm not talking about the grand scheme of things. Lina will die if she does this. How fast does time flow for immortals? What's fifty years to someone who's seen a thousand? Jareth will blink and she'll be dead, after all the shit he's been through to keep her safe."
"You could make this much simpler by warning Jareth not to let Lina too close."
"Not without opening up a whole can of worms. He'll want to know why. And then when I tell him, he'll ask about all the other things I've seen. It's his future. Plus, he's got enough issues with guilt as it is. I don't want him to feel like it's his fault I'm stuck with powers and things I don't want to see."
Brynn didn't know what she meant by a can of worms, nor why she would want to open something like it. He did know that telling Jareth would take the matter out of either woman's hands. There was no way that stubborn Fae would let his sister come to harm for his own sake. He'd proven time and again that he wasn't capable of such a thing. Whether or not that was meant to be an insult, he couldn't have said. The traits he admired in Sarah weren't necessarily as appealing in his own kind. He suspected his temples were beginning to throb with the beginnings of a headache. She wasn't half-skilled at poking his conscience with a stick.
As if sensing his hesitation, Sarah latched onto the silence eagerly. "She's also your future Queen. Don't you have just a slight problem with her only lasting a few decades? You know she's going to change things for the better. We can't let her die without achieving it all."
"And why can you not have this conversation with her yourself?"
"Lack of time, mostly. I could be called away any second by a wish, and if I spook her she might just hurry along and do it when I'm busy. But also – well, you're good at debating, and you're level-headed. I think she'd listen to you more than me. If she's anything like Jareth, I might start…yelling at her for being stubborn." She blushed. "I don't think that would fly."
He could have let her win the argument then, if not for the question scratching the back of his throat. Maybe it was cruel, a little insensitive, but he had to know. What would Sarah Williams sacrifice? "You realise, of course, that stopping her from doing this will mean you'll most likely outlive Jareth."
Her reaction was not completely unexpected. He was learning to anticipate the way she tensed all at once, jaw set firm and eyes brimming with fire. "Better that than him outliving me. I never want to leave him on his own again."
"A bold statement," he murmured. "You might change your mind when the time comes. It isn't easy being the one left behind. Especially if you aren't accustomed to it."
"I'd rather break than leave him broken," she replied. For all her strength, those words were no more than a whisper.
For once he knew her brevity to be a lie. But if it was a lie she was willing to believe, then it wasn't his place to argue. "I'll speak with her," he promised.
He'd have thought the assurance would relax her. She thanked him, tense as ever. "And you won't tell Jareth about any of it?"
"You have my word."
He noticed her fingers twitch momentarily, half extending out as if to touch his arm. "You're a good person, Brynn. I'm –" she paused, chewing on the thought. "I'm sorry for being a difficult person. I know I ask a lot from people."
For the first time she softened, leaning into the stone wall with a sigh. Shadows darkened her face. He felt a twinge of concern, a desire to sweep the gloom away. "The Fates have asked much of you. It's only logical that you would require assistance. You are complicated, Sarah, but not quite as difficult as I first thought you to be."
Though her smile came with obvious effort, it didn't go unnoticed. "Thanks. That's actually pretty sweet of you."
Uneasy with the warmth she was stirring in him, Brynn tidied his coat and ignored her. "I would just like to say one more thing about our disagreement earlier."
Her eye roll brought them mercifully back to their old dynamic. "You have to ruin it don't you?"
"A Queen can learn from others' mistakes, Sarah, but she can't afford to make her own. This is why I am concerned about you. The Labyrinth sorts humanity with its tests but we can't forget its other purpose: to satisfy the hordes. There are too many of them for us to truly control. The maze serves to distract them, the way a feather on a cat's nose keeps its eyes from the mice."
She bristled as expected. There was strange comfort in the familiar emotion. "So I'm just the person holding the feather out? Gee, thanks. Here I was thinking this was all just a little more important than that."
"It's the most important thing," he replied fervently. "Don't be fooled into thinking otherwise. My people have trusted the Labyrinth as a distraction for millennia without care for its methods. Under your rule, it will be more than it has ever been. Your people can be tested without fear of death; mine can live without fear of rebellion." He took a step forward, imploring her to understand. He could see her processing the words. "Do you see why I must care for your conscience? Quick words will leave your people in trouble. You need my advice, Sarah."
"I know I do," she admitted. "There's so much about this place I don't know. So many details I wouldn't even know to think about. Like Diego. I realised that he was Erased when the goblins won him…but I didn't do it, and I know that Jareth couldn't have. You did, didn't you?"
He let the silence answer for him.
"So you did the dirty work for me…" she stared at the ground, lost. "You didn't have to. You could have let his memory stay alive. People lose children. It happens."
"If I didn't, it would have happened of its own accord. The magic of the Labyrinth is semi-sentient. But if the wished away are Erased like that it can never be reversed, if the chance should arise."
"But mine can, right? Jareth said so. I could go home like nothing's happened. Visit my family."
"Would you want to?"
"Yes," she answered firmly. "I've been thinking about it for a while. I don't care if I have to lie or hide my age…I need them in my life, even if they drive me crazy."
He nodded in silence. Familial bonds eluded him.
"But anyway, I was trying to make a point. I know that I need your help. But you don't have to be a dick to teach me lessons, all right?"
The colloquial was lost on him, but from her tone he got the idea. It shouldn't have made a difference whether he'd snapped at her or spoken calmly. Reason was reason. And the truth was that she'd made a mistake. Yet there she went, twisting logic into something else entirely with those eyes full of emotion. And he couldn't help but feel a little chastised. "You are stubborn and careless with your tongue, Sarah…but you aren't a child. And for inferring that…I apologise."
"Thanks."
Why did her smile seem a reward? Brynn shook himself off. The conversation was becoming all too human for his comfort. "I'm looking for a place to make my study," he said brusquely, turning to walk down the hall so she had to keep up. "You're going to need me close at hand. I trust you don't mind my intrusion?"
She said it would be fine, but her thoughts were on other things. It was clear in the way she bit her lip and stared off into the distance. "You'll talk to Lina soon, right?"
"As soon as possible," he answered. They were almost back to their original spot before she spoke again.
"Do things stop hurting if you live long enough?"
"I don't understand."
"I mean losing someone. Someone you care about. If you live long enough, will it stop hurting?"
He'd never needed to think about that before. "I –"
"Hey," Sarah called, spotting Jareth down the hall. Her quiet ponderings were cast aside, for now. "Thought I told you not to wait up?"
"I was just exercising my free will, love," he replied nonchalantly, pushing away from the wall he'd been leaning on. "It needs a good run every so often to keep in shape. Especially if you are to be my constant companion."
The subtleties of romance were often lost on Brynn, but he knew lovers when he saw them. Their smiles were natural, her hand instinctually catching his. They seemed at peace in a world he'd never tried to understand.
"I'll leave you to it Brynn," said Sarah, cradling Jareth's hand on her shoulder. "Take any room you like. There's some big airy places toward the North Tower you might like."
He exchanged a brief nod with Jareth before they separated. Sarah's request was fresh on his mind; there was no need to clarify the task. He would seek an audience with the Princess as soon as she was available. There's no logic in having a mortal Queen. She needs time. It made sense. He would not let the consequences outweigh the benefits.
And yet Brynn couldn't help but have one thought stuck in his head: if you live long enough, will it stop hurting?
He'd forgotten what normal could feel like. Fleeting as it had been recently, he was uncomfortable with it at first. Sarah did the admiring of the web garden, neglected as it was, while Jareth tamed his rampant mind. It should have been quite easy: Sarah was a vision of freshly showered woman, flushed pink and warm. She ducked beneath the vast glistening network of silver, trailing fingers along them while her damp hair soaked the back of her pale dress. For once, the sight was not able to distract him.
"You're doing it again," she called without looking at him. The web rippled outwards from her touch; she smiled without conviction.
"I'm not," he lied, shifting on the grass. They'd come to the garden with the notion of casting aside worry for the afternoon. Sarah was delving quite successfully into the moment, but Jareth was struggling.
"I know it's hard," she told him gently. "But we need some time to ourselves." She picked a path back to him. "Keel's funeral is tonight. I'll probably miss it because of another wish. Brynn's making himself at home as my right hand man, so you're going to have to deal with him eventually. The goblins are still unsure about you, which means we'll need to be careful about how we act around them. I'll have to see Malibar again, much as I don't want to." She sat beside him, legs crossed, thigh pressed against his. "Just a little time, Jareth. Half an hour. You and me. No stress, no thinking."
He picked up her hand, kissing the wrist that had once been ringed by blue. It brought out a beautiful red in her cheeks, but he had no stomach for admiring it. "At the Drop," he murmured. "You saved yourself from falling. How?"
Her eyes were on the wrist in his fingers, staring as if seeing marks, no longer there. "Good to see you're clearly listening to me," she remarked stiffly.
But it was there, caught fluttering in his thoughts, and he wanted to free it. He enclosed her hand in both of his, pressed it against his chest. "Tell me, precious. Put my mind at ease."
"Those are two very contradicting requests."
"Malibar said you could learn to divert power," he pressed on. "From what?"
"From the magic you gave me," she sighed finally, touching softly the scars he bore for her: his hand, the slashes above his eye. "You burnt yourself out saving my life. I got a little more than you meant to give."
Something unnameable surged inside him. "My…" For a moment, just the time it took for one heartbeat to become another, he longed to feel what had once been his. A sliver of hot emotion boiled and faded into nothing – had that been a flicker of envy? Surely not. But no – if it could be somewhere in Sarah, and not simply gone, that was better than he could have hoped for. His fingers moved to the base of her throat, tender and careful. Her pulse flickered with life, with the magic no longer his. He closed his eyes and listened to the soft beat.
"I'm going to give it back to you," Sarah murmured firmly. "I think Malibar knows how."
Reluctantly Jareth let his hand fall away from the pulse. He traced her bottom lip with a thumb instead. "Keep it," he told her. "It might protect you in ways I can't."
"But –"
"You'll do as you're told, precious. This time."
She shifted to sit with her legs over his lap, shaking her head. He could see the thoughts whirling through her. Those eyes were unfathomably deep sometimes. "Jareth, I –"
And then other times they tended to glaze over. He'd noticed this a few times, the faraway look that would overcome her. She'd be silent for a while when that happened, lost. He often wondered what was so important as to derail any other train of thought. Inexplicably, upon shaking herself out of it, she turned to him with a smile and asked: "What do you think of being called Uncle Jareth?"
He frowned. "I'm sorry? What in the Fate's Design made you think of that?"
"I don't know," she shrugged, picking at a thread on his cuff. "I just thought…I'll have to tell people Above about you – in some way or another. At least that I'm in a relationship so they don't meddle. And so what if Toby has kids one day? Or Alice? You could be the cool uncle who watches them on weekends. I'll tell them you're in a band." She grinned conspiratorially. "What do you think?"
Just like that, he remembered what normal could feel like. One moment they could be discussing the ancient magic running through her veins and the next, her brother's children. He dipped his head to her, inhaling the scent of her warm skin. "I'm rusty in the art of babysitting, love."
"Baby sitting's a breeze," she assured him. "Dinner at six, bed at eight, and no wishing the kid away to the goblins."
"You say that so innocently," he remarked dryly, smirking into her hair.
She pressed her cheek into his shoulder, which seemed to end that particular conversation. "I gave you such a hard time, didn't I?" she asked around a soft exhalation. It could have passed for a gentle laugh.
"You'll have to be a little more specific," he replied, hazy with a rediscovered languor.
"Ass." She gave his arm a half-hearted swat. "When I first came here. You wanted to show me your world and I was a bitch about it."
He recalled the complete and utter defiance burning in her eyes, the expressions of borderline loathing. But he saw again the fear, too, remembered the shell of brevity she'd climbed into during those early weeks. She might've been difficult but he hadn't exactly been innocent in their encounters. His temper had been short, then. Over his shoulder he could see the spot where they'd stood and argued viciously. "You were rather…impervious to my charms," he said simply.
"I was trying to prove a point to Mira, if that makes you feel better."
"Not particularly."
"No, didn't think it would. Sorry."
"What point were you trying to make, precious?"
She drew her thumb along the seam of his sleeve, biting her lip. "That you didn't love me. I thought if I yelled and screamed bloody murder at you long enough you'd snap, and she'd see you didn't have feelings for me."
"Ah. Well, that was a plan doomed from the start, wasn't it?"
She beamed. "You really cared about me, didn't you? Even in the beginning, when I treated you like shit."
"You…were a curiosity to me. I liked your spirit."
"Seriously? We drove each other crazy, Jareth. How did you find time to like me in between all that fighting?"
"Well we both managed somehow, I'd say. We're here, aren't we?"
She was fairly comfortable in his lap by that point. Something glimmered in the light: his pendant around her neck, hanging between her breasts. She never seemed to take it off though it could be heavy, in many ways, sometimes. He touched it, cool and smooth as ever, brushed her sternum, pulsing with life and magic. How many other things would he give to her? He half expected to hear another beat behind her ribs, the duet of her heart and his own planted there. She smiled, beatific under the glistening webs, ethereal to him. They kissed, and he let go of all thought, and the afternoon fell away.
Yes, we're here, aren't we?
Sarah was right. She missed Keel's funeral.
"Eighteen hours," Jareth complained as she passed by him in a flurry. "Eighteen hours and you've neither eaten nor slept, Sarah."
"How can I?" she growled, fisting her hair with nervous energy. "He's six years old, Jareth. How is he going to survive this? If Brynn leaves him alone for one second…"
"The man has been given his task and he'll follow it through," he assured her. How could he stay so calm? "He takes orders better than most."
She didn't have time to acknowledge that small compliment. All of her concentration was on the mirror in her hand. Within in the glass was the image of a tiny boy crawling through mud, Brynn by his side. Red-eyed creatures snaked through the swamp with ease behind then. "Come on," she murmured, feverish with worry. "You can do this. You can do this."
She couldn't take her eyes from the images. Jareth couldn't stand to watch.
Later:
"He'll understand Sarah, yer can't go worryin' yourself into a mess like this." Hoggle tried to catch her hand, her shirt, anything to stop her pacing. It was driving him mad. But she shirked him off easily and kept moving. "He knows what's really important to –"
"He's important to me!" she snapped, glaring too at Jareth as if he'd added his two cents. "His cousin is dead because of me! And I couldn't even go to the fucking funeral, and it's been hours and I still haven't been able to see him! And you know what's driving me crazy? I feel so fucking guilty because my head is full of pictures of this tiny little boy trying to run this crazy maze. It's all I can think about." Tears were streaming down her cheeks. He hated to see Sarah cry. "Why are you here, anyway?" she sniffed loudly, grimly. "Henry's about to reach the oubliette. That's your forte, right?"
"Right," he sighed. There was nothing he could do. She was too worked up. Sharing a look with Jareth, the Dwarf-Goblin headed back into the Labyrinth.
Later:
Some twenty-two hours in, Brynn decided to appear. They'd seen him vanish in the mirror and Jareth had had no misconceptions about how Sarah would react.
"What are you doing?" she cried the second he arrived. "Get back to Henry! He needs you!"
"He's perfectly safe for now," Brynn replied smoothly. He was always too smooth for Jareth's liking. "The others are watching over him while he sleeps. Something you are in dire need of doing."
"Don't you start," she snapped. Surely the stone beneath her feet had been worn down by her constant pacing? "You need to get back there. He's too little and the boys scare him. He needs you."
"I've come to make a suggestion. It's not too late for you to put a time limit on the runs. To avoid these…situations." He studied her. "It doesn't become you."
Sarah's reply was fairly ineloquent. He put it down to sleep-depravation and adrenaline. It involved much swearing and the repetition of one fact: she wouldn't doom someone just because they couldn't move fast enough. She wouldn't be proud of that outburst, later on.
Later:
"I can't do this Jareth. I can't do it anymore."
"You can, love. It's almost over."
He ran his fingers through her hair, massaged her scalp, hummed ancient songs of peace. Sheer exhaustion had finally won out, with Sarah agreeing to have a rest. But nothing would help her fall asleep. Not with the thoughts stuck in her mind. He longed for a simple touch of magic that would have her dozing in a heartbeat, but those luxuries were beyond him now. Instead he shushed her restless soul, ignored his own worry for the boy and for the Elf, and hoped for the best.
Later:
She hadn't quite got the hang of breaking her fall yet.
Sometimes Jareth was quick enough to catch her from a Return, other times she was left with bruises. Today, she didn't give a shit if she broke her arm crashing to the stone floor. In the moment between unreality and the Castle, when she flew through nothingness at the speed of life, Sarah grinned. He'd won. He'd won. Henry would be going home and so would his cousin. Thirty-three hours of stress and torment melted away for that blissful heartbeat between worlds.
She did in fact hit the stone again, bruising her tailbone and scraping her palms. It meant nothing to her. Jareth collected her with an apology but she got to her feet with a smile.
"He won," she announced in a daze, exhausted. "He won."
That moment of happiness was not enough to still her shaking hands now, though. Brynn was taking her to see Wick. They'd all protested of course, arguing that she needed a good night's sleep after such a long run. Thankfully Jareth had been able to see what she truly needed, and demanded that Brynn transport her to the Elf community immediately.
She stared at the grainy wood of Wick's front door and did nothing.
"Are you cold?" Brynn asked, misreading her trembling. "Do you require a cloak?"
"I'm not cold," she replied distantly, eyes flicking to the lights in the window. Would she be bothering him now? Was he busy with something?
"Then why are you shaking? Are you afraid?"
"No, I'm just – I'm fine, Brynn. Really." She forced the roughness from her voice. It wasn't his fault he couldn't read people sometimes. "Do you mind if I do this alone? I think Wick will be able to take me home later. And if not, I'll call you."
"Very well." He made a sharp gesture with his arm that could have been a shrug. He walked away a few paces before vanishing.
The darkness outside the house seemed worse, then. She knocked on the door, if only to be given refuge from the accusing streets. Were there members of Wick's family nearby, mourning and watching her and judging her worth for what she'd allowed to happen? She knocked again.
The door swung inwards without a sound. Light spilled onto the paving stones, silhouetting the Elf with a warm glow. It was difficult to read his expression against the shadows. "Sarah?"
"I'm –" the words caught in her throat, she swallowed them down and tried again. "I'm so sorry, Wick."
No matter what everyone else had said, she'd still worried that he would hate her for missing the funeral. And the days after it.
Wick reached out and brushed the back of his fingers across her forehead. "I was worried about you," he murmured.
Sarah burst into tears.
He pulled her through the door and into his arms, sharp cheekbones pressing against hers. She'd forgotten how thin he was; her hands interlocked easily around his bony waist. It was inexplicably comforting to feel that wiry, jagged Elf body next to hers. Wick was soft in different ways. I was worried about you. When he was living deep in grief, he was worried about her. She sobbed against his cheek, just once, soothed by the presence of a very good friend. When she'd settled down, Wick drew back and brushed her forehead again. "Would you like to visit her?" he asked.
She knew exactly what he meant. "Yes please," she whispered.
"I remember every moment you've upset me, Sarah."
He'd chosen to walk her to the memorial site. Gateways left little time for what needed to be said. Lights flickered out through the streets of his community; it was late for those donning their Servant Selves in the morning. He could see quite well in the dark, but for Sarah's sake they'd joined hands to keep her from falling. She stumbled anyway at his first words since leaving his house. And he knew it wasn't the darkness, so he hurried on: "Mostly they seemed to involve you being too stubborn for your own good. And the impossible favours you asked of me."
"Why are you telling me this?" She was quieter than usual, reserved.
He knew she was still doubting him. "Because I'm not upset with you because of Keel's death," he murmured, squeezing her hand.
"How can you know what you're feeling?" she replied anxiously. "It's only been a few days. You'll probably feel a lot differently when reality sinks in."
Wick should his head. "I won't. I'm not even mad at myself anymore, for bringing her into all this."
Her steps slowed. "You're not?"
"What good would it do?" he shrugged. "Laying her souls to rest has done something for me, Sarah. Before, I was aching…I – but now it doesn't seem so…" Oh, what were the words? He'd never been good at this sort of thing. "It seems more manageable."
She might've thought that sceptical look was hidden by the night, but he could see well enough.
"The point I'm trying to make is that I'll always be honest with you. You've been annoying, persistent, difficult and demanding before. And you'll be those things again, at some time or another. It's who you are. It's who I am." He drew them to a stop as one, curling Sarah's fingers with his own. She looked about ready to protest his 'honesty' with that classic Sarah Williams expression. It warmed him. "I will never be angry at you for what happened to Keel. It isn't your fault. And by the Fate's design…I swear I am not upset with you for missing her final ceremony. You had no choice."
Whether she truly believed him or not was difficult to say. The tension left her but for the hint of unease in those eyes. That would do for now. Taking up their steady pace together, Sarah dropped his hand in favour of looping arms. "It took thirty-three hours for a boy to run the Labyrinth," she told him with a sigh.
He whistled low, immediately imagining the stress she would have put herself through for the child. "Would you like to talk about it?"
"Not really. He won. I'd rather just be done with it."
"I suppose I would too."
"I just…that's why I couldn't make it –"
"Sarah…"
"I know I know, you're okay with it. I just had to tell you."
"Consider me told. Now that's enough of the matter."
Their stop-start journey settled into something with more ease and direction. He'd missed her comforting presence and the gentle curve of her compared to his own people. He'd missed the strange things she talked about sometimes, like stories watched on contraptions called TeeVee, or how she preferred Gateways to cars, whatever they were. No odd details of the Above came forth from her tonight, though. This was fine. Wick found he didn't have much to say himself, now that they'd cleared the air. It was enough just to walk together, breathing in the cool night. Houses fell away around them as the path veered out of town. It took them through forestland rich with variety: crimson oaks and Thorneside cedars grew side by side, while bursts of evergreen shrubbery glimmered in the undergrowth, emerald in the moonlight.
"Beautiful," Sarah murmured, touching a crimson oak reverentially as they passed. She inspected her fingers as if expecting them to be stained red. "Your people have some really beautiful land tucked up your sleeves. Bet the Fae are jealous."
"Why should they be?" Wick replied blankly. "It's their land. None of this is native to us."
Sarah turned to fix with him a sharp gaze. "What do you mean? You live here, don't you?"
"We do now. We haven't always. This is Fae territory."
"So why…?"
This was so familiar, sharing information she'd be suitably outraged over, that he couldn't help but feel comforted. Nothing ever changed too much. Sarah would always question everything and fight for what she thought proper. "You're not going to enjoy this one," he told her.
Her expression clearly told him to go on.
"Elf territory used to run alongside the Fae's. Centuries and centuries ago. Before the Palace royals realised we would make excellent servants, because of our strength with magic. After that they started encroaching on our rights and land, picking us off in groups to become staff." He studied a quivering blackthorn with only mild interest. What did native Elf trees look like? "The story's very old, and the details aren't clear…but after decades of this, my people did the only thing left to them. They moved the homeland."
"I don't follow," Sarah told him, confused.
"Before too much could be taken, they secreted away the land to some place far off where Fae couldn't find us."
"You…you just moved your whole territory? Just like that?"
"I did say it's a very old story," he replied sheepishly. But it was his story, a notion of hope in the heart of all Elves. "It couldn't be done these days. The knowledge is long lost, if it ever existed to begin with."
"But then if you ran away, why are you all still slaves?"
"Servants," he corrected, because it mattered. To him. "Something went wrong. The magic failed. Maybe a miscalculation or lack of focus…but the land was moved without us. All that was left was hundreds of Elves on bare, nameless land. So of course, the Fae snapped us up. We've been theirs ever since. Splitting us our souls guaranteed that."
"But you've got a home out there!" she exclaimed, just as he thought she would. "Why don't you run away? The Fae don't know where it is!"
"And neither do we," he said. "Wherever the homeland was headed that day, we were meant to find out by going with it. Now…" A mournful longing started to pull at him. Wick shrugged it away with some effort. He had enough to mourn already. "Look, it doesn't matter all that much anymore. It was so long ago to us. We've lived this way for generations. When we retire, we're free to go searching, but what would be the point?
"You'd find your home. Isn't that reason enough?"
"Home is where you make it, Sarah." He stared ahead at their destination. "It has to be."
She followed his gaze to the memorial site that had opened up before them. A softly exhaled 'oh' was her reaction, hand seeking his once more. "Wick, it's gorgeous."
He was very familiar with the view by now. It had been a clearing once but was now brimming with young trees, a visible break separating them from the rest of the forest. The grass was sleek and dark, thickly grown, and the way it moved in the wind seemed to offer directions around each grave. They were diverse in age, some as tall as himself and others no higher than Sarah's knee. Some were dainty with youth, delicate and swaying, while others were thick enough to host bird's nests without trouble. Every single one of them was pitch black. Wherever moonlight struck a branch it shimmered like polished marble. Wick led Sarah through them, enjoying her gasp of delight at the glow that surrounded trees they passed. Some of the larger ones he remembered visiting years ago, when his older relatives had moved on. They glowed too, beckoning, but he had only eyes for one.
Keel's place was marked by a seedling. It pulsed with gentle light at their feet, glimmering with the moon. Sarah crouched, hands on her knees, hair spilling over her face. "Oh," she breathed out in a whisper, "She's so tiny."
"She won't be for long," Wick murmured. "That was a seed only yesterday."
"Do they grow that fast?"
"It depends on the person."
"She'll be bigger than everyone here in no time then." She tucked hair behind her ear and reached out to gingerly touch a leaf on the seedling. "It's so warm." They stood in a heartbeat of silence, then: "I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you."
He had the feeling this wasn't directed at him. When he tried to give Sarah privacy, she groped behind her for his boot, a plea to stay. So they settled in together, legs crossed, the cool night ruffling their hair. Sarah was quiet for a time, hands folded neatly in her lap, eyeing the seedling with a heavy expression.
"I'm sorry we didn't get along very well," she murmured eventually. Her voice carried in the wind. Wick kept silent and let her talk. "I guess we didn't have enough time to get to know each other. But you were –" again a warble, a hard swallow – "You were a very strong woman, Keel. More than I could ever be." She reached out again, touched the smallest leaf. "Thank you for saving my life."
Wick let Sarah curl her face into his shoulder then, and cry silently, while he touched the soil at the base of the seedling. It glowed anew, the tiny branches shivering with the flow of magic. "A little something to help you grow," he whispered, wondering how tall she'd be by next spring.
Some things didn't need saying. Jareth was reminded of this multiple times over the next few days. Sarah used to watch over him when he slept, fingers in his hair, soothing words falling to him. He remembered that more than the nightmares that had plagued him. It was one of those things he'd never mentioned, for fear of spoiling the magic of those secret moments. Of course he remembered waking to find her smoothing down his hair or murmuring poetry. But the beauty of those times was too pure for words.
Returning the favour weeks later, he kept his silence for a different reason. He was reading into the early hours of dawn with Sarah asleep beside him. Her delicious heat warmed his side, curled into him as she was. The bedroom was silent but for the gentle scrape of pages turning and Sarah's light breathing. He was just thinking himself one lucky bastard when she started to twitch, murmuring and fidgeting. Casting his book aside, Jareth turned to watch. It wasn't unfamiliar for her to be restless while sleeping. But the frown didn't go away and her eyelids fluttered rapidly. Where are you, he wondered, only able to imagine. He knew that she could be soothed easily enough by a hand through her hair. Adding a few lines of song wasn't strictly necessary but he liked to think his voice calmed her. When her sleep became peaceful again he continued reading, book propped on his knees so that he could brush fingers across her temple. It was different from this perspective, and he wondered if Sarah looked back on her time watching him as pure at all. There was little magic in being the one awake, seeing the nightmares take hold.
Two nights later she screamed herself hoarse. At first he thought they were under attack, waking in an instant to face an assailant. Blinking at the sudden lights in the room, Jareth found himself alone with Sarah as they'd been all night. She was thrashing in the sheets, struggling to break free while screaming about death and falling. Face twisted, sweat dripping, eyes wide open at some unseen horror – Sarah was deep in her imagination. She ignored everything he tried to say. Nothing he did could rouse her from the horrific night terror. Jareth was at a loss of what to do. Even yelling in her face out of desperation did nothing. When she started to scratch at him he was forced to pin her wrists down. It made his skin crawl to see her wailing and shaking beneath him. Waiting it out was agony, knowing all too well the blood and horror she was likely to dream of. He tried to fill her ears with poetry, in the hope it might bleed through the nightmares: you are a concordance of person, number, voice, and place, strawberries spread through your name as if it were budding shrubs, how you remind me of some spring, the waters as cool and clear – her cries quietened but still she stared around her for an attacker.
He carried on: (late rain clings to your leaves, shaken by light wind), which is where you occur in grassy moonlight: and you are a lily, an aster, white trillium or viburnum, by all rights mine, white star in the meadow sky, the snow still arriving from its earthwards journeys, here where there is no snow – Sarah blinked into consciousness as if from a trance, falling still beneath him. He released her immediately, only for her to crawl into his arms and sob. He carried on with his poem, laying her down against him, stroking her hair. He didn't ask and she didn't tell. There was no magic to spoil this time, rather a silence borne of mutual understanding. I know, love. I know.
Jareth learnt this lesson a few times over the following days. It wasn't always necessary to say thank you, to say I understand, to say I'm here. He and Sarah lived and breathed these things, most often in the dead of night. One night she woke from a cold sweat and ravaged his mouth in desperation. Her eyes screamed for him to make her forget everything else. He understood that too. How many times had he wished to lose himself between her thighs, to push away all eternal concerns for the sake of mortal contentment? Often, with the right moves, she screamed for kinder reasons. It became a way of averting nightmares altogether. With enough sex they could sleep right through the night for sheer exhaustion.
Some things didn't need saying. Some things were too painful or pure or primal for words. They weren't earth-shifting events, these nights they kept each other awake. Others would have called them commonplace, had they known. Lovers comforting one another was nothing new. To Jareth they were very new, and very important, and he was happy to go on never saying certain things for the rest of his life with Sarah.
With less than a week until her coronation, Lina had little time for visitors. She'd come to expect frequent interruptions from the Council, needing this and that with her signature and counsel. No hour of the day was safe from Ezra's prying eyes or Marina's demands on her time. And she hadn't even been crowned yet! If it was a foreshadowing of her life to come, Lina wondered if she'd ever sleep again. Nevertheless, she couldn't help feeling excited. There were so many possibilities lying ahead of her, so many facets of Domain life she'd soon have the power to change. The Elves were her top priority, though that was a political interest kept close to her heart. It would take years to sway her people on the matter of equal rights. If she scared them off and had her reign questioned because of too much change too quickly, nobody would be any better off. She had to pace herself. But oh, in a few years' time when she could tell Sarah that the Elves were free civilians…
"I didn't think reports on inner-city trade were much to smile about," Marina commented dryly. The Fae was slight but tall and she towered over Lina's desk in all her usual shimmering attire. Sarah had mentioned how she found the woman intimidating, with her rich self-assured voice and stately presence. Lina was not so easily unsettled yet her feet, having been tucked up beneath her on the chair, slid to the floor before she could stop them. Taming her wayward grin, she handed the freshly-signed papers back to Marina.
"I only smile to keep from weeping," she replied with a terse head shake. "When did mother discontinue trade with the Dwarves? They were a key supplier of jewels and craft the last I was aware. The absence is more than obvious..."
A flicker of movement at the doorway caught her attention, so that Marina's response faded into the background. "Do I have a visitor?" she asked, gaze directed beyond.
Marina's brow twitched in irritation at being cut off, but she turned to inspect the doorway.
A man stepped forward with a low bow to the pair of them. "Forgive the intrusion, your Royal Highness," he said in a low, steady voice. If his dark, neat attire and shockingly red markings weren't enough for her to recognise him, that stony expression was.
"Brynn?" she raised a brow in surprise. What was the former Goblin King doing at her door? This was a visit she hadn't expected. "Can I help you with something?"
"Just a reminder that you do have several important meetings lined up for the afternoon," said Marina pointedly, eyeing Brynn curiously. Nobody came unannounced to the Princess.
"I'm aware of my schedule," Lina replied smoothly, gesturing for the man to enter. "Is this important, Brynn? Is everything all right with Sarah?"
"As all right as it can be," Brynn replied, hands folded behind his back. "Sarah is…adjusting to her situation slowly."
That wasn't exactly encouraging. "Then what have you come to see me about?"
The man's eyes flicked over to Marina for just a second. "I have something rather…private…to discuss with you."
Another surprise. The man was full of them today. "Oh? Can it wait?"
"I'm afraid not. I'm aware your coronation is soon and that you don't have much spare time, but this concerns your brother."
"Well then." Lina turned to the Councilwoman. "Would you send apologies to those I'm meeting? This could be a late afternoon."
She didn't bother to advise against it, nodding curtly at the direction. Lina liked that in her, unlike a few choice others who would have taken issue with the command and the dismissal.
"Oh!" she reached out to catch the woman's wrist but stopped herself – Queens didn't snatch at people like overly-familiar children. "And would you mind issuing invitations to the Dwarf tradespeople to discuss contracts with me? I doubt the cities should go on without their craftsmanship."
If that was a slight nod of approval from the woman, neither of them mentioned it. Left alone with Brynn, Lina jumped to her feet, skirts swishing as she rounded the desk. "Is –"
"Jareth is fine," he reassured her, hands momentarily raised. Whether to placate or to ward off her frantic advances was difficult to say. The man seemed to pick and choose when he wanted to be familiar with someone. "But he won't be if you go through with what you're planning."
Her first thought was of the Elves, and she frowned in confusion. "I don't see what that has to do with my brother."
He raised a brow. "You don't think transference against his will might affect him in any way?"
"What are you –? Oh." Clarity dawned, but then – "How do you know about that?" she asked sharply, prickling in defence. Malibar had taught her just days ago how to perform the act. "I haven't told anyone."
"Sarah," he said. "Jareth gave her his magic as well as his years. She's been seeing his future, which seems to mostly entail a sacrifice on your part." Those keen grey eyes reminded her of hawks and eagles. "From your face, I assume she's drawn the right conclusion?"
For once, Lina found she didn't have an answer.
"Sarah has sent me to dissuade you from your endeavour."
"Oh?" Decades of peacekeeping put her back up instantly: she was used to threats, though shocked at the source. "What does she think you can achieve with me?"
Brynn shook his head. "I'm sorry, that sounded…ominous. I didn't mean for it to be so."
For a minute his hard features softened into something almost contrite, and Lina realised she was being a fool. Neither Sarah nor Brynn were capable of strongarming. "No, I'm sorry," she told him. "Sometimes my reactions are far too habitual."
"Peacekeeping will drive your instincts towards defence," he remarked, supplying her with an excuse. His head tilted a little as he studied her. This time she thought of wolves, not birds, but oddly enough felt no danger. A tame wolf, perhaps. One she could scratch behind the ear. She shook the thought from her head.
"Surely Sarah must realise I'm doing this for her? For the both of them? Without my years, Jareth will die. And Sarah will live on as Goblin Queen alone." Her voice faded in strength. "She can't want that."
"It doesn't matter what she wants," Brynn replied as if it were of no importance. "She's willing to face that day when it comes."
"Of course she thinks that now. She's trying to be brave. That won't be the case in eighty years' time when my brother is grey on his death bed."
"And in eighty years' time when you are greying in your bed? Do you suppose he will thank you for forcing him into what should have been your position?"
"I don't doubt that he'll be angry with me," she retorted. "I fully expect to be harassed for a few decades. But that's a small price to pay for saving his life. If the idiot is too proud to see what I'm doing for him, then that's just something I'll have to handle. Sarah and Jareth will need each other for far longer than the time they've got now."
Brynn shook his head fiercely, taking a step towards her. "You're letting sentiment cloud your vision."
"I'm not," she insisted, echoing his movements. "Sarah is the one making all the sacrifices here. She's giving up her entire life to rule the Goblin Realm so that she can be with Jareth. If he dies, do you expect her to stay Underground? We need a reason to keep her here."
"I don't believe you could be that manipulative," he said unflinchingly. "It isn't like you."
He may have called her bluff, but he didn't need to know. "What's the difference if I last five decades rather than five centuries?" she asked, changing the subject. "There'll be plenty of other Queens after I'm gone."
"None quite like you," he countered immediately. "You're the catalyst for changes such as our people have never seen."
She'd been hearing that a lot lately. Marina's opinion was not quite as dramatic, but the idea was there nonetheless. Lina wasn't so sure herself. Oh, she could dream well enough: freeing the Elves, turning around the Labyrinth with Sarah, softening harsh laws that'd been in place for too long. The truth was, she lay awake at night doubting whether any of it would ever be accomplished. And just what makes you so certain, Brynn Fel Vaden?"
"You are your father's daughter," he said plainly.
Lina stared at him. She had vague recollections of Brynn from her childhood. He was a good fifty years older, which had rendered him another dull adult in her eyes. He'd been so typically Fae that he hadn't warranted much of her attention. Now she suspected he was becoming something different and she was as curious as time would allow. She had very little of her own time these days. But she thought of her father, and all the ways she did resemble him. "Being Jaster El'Maven didn't end well for him," she murmured. "You think what I intend to do will go unchallenged?"
"You know his death had nothing to do with his choices in life," he replied quietly. "When we were younger Ezra would often say how thankful she was that Mira hindered the King's political projects. She said they were of no use to our way of life." Without moving any closer he seemed to fill the space around her – it was those eyes, strong and clear and unwavering. He might've been handsome if he could loosen that stern expression. "Imagine what the daughter of Jaster El'Maven could accomplish without someone like Mira to intervene. The Domain needs you as you are. For as long as possible."
Lina closed her eyes and thought of Kiff, and her heart ached. One hundred years. It had been more than a century and still she missed him. She'd never laughed or cried as hard as when that damn Elf's heart had been hers. It seemed unlikely that she'd ever love someone like that again. There was no doubt in her mind that what Jareth and Sarah shared was much the same, save for one difference: their union had a chance. Her brother had given up his future to save her from a grim fate. If it was within her capability to return the favour, what right did she have to ignore it? And if she could prevent Sarah ever feeling the loss she'd had to go through, wasn't that something to be mindful of? Lina had often told herself these were the reasons behind what she wanted to do. But once, just once, lying in bed alone at the break of dawn, she'd thought of another reason. If she gave her years to Jareth, then she wouldn't outlive him. She wouldn't have to be the one who lost someone else. It was a petty, selfish idea that made her cringe to even consider it. But it had come to her that one lonely dawn and she was hard-pressed to be rid of it sometimes.
"Eighty years is time enough to achieve the things we dream of," Lina murmured. "This isn't a death sentence – not in any immediate sense, anyway."
"Your life is worth more than a few decades," he replied insistently.
She lifted her chin and met his hard stare. "I'm sorry Brynn," she murmured, genuine though undeterred. "But I just don't see it that way."
A knock on the door startled them both. His visible twitch spoke of how riled up Brynn was. Looking around him, Lina raised a brow as Marina slipped halfway into the room. "They won't wait, will they?" she asked.
The woman shook her head.
"It's all right," she sighed, smoothing her skirts. "We're finished here."
Brynn's serious expression grew more so. "With respect, your Royal Highness, I –"
"Not a word of this to anyone," Lina interrupted, pointing a finger at him. "Especially Sarah. If she asks, you tell her there's no longer anything for her to worry about."
"I can't –
"You can and you will, Brynn Fel Vaden. I am the Princess, your future Queen, and by the Fates' design I want your promise as a loyal subject that you won't say a word of this to Sarah."
"Lina –"
She tapped him square in the chest, fevered with urgency. "Swear to me, Brynn."
Later, after everything that followed, Lina would look back on that moment and realise she'd probably left him no choice.