Short chapter, long notes. This one's been bugging me.
I'm so sorry to torment my readers, especially Anji and Solea who have repeatedly pointed it out, but Sarah has to hit rock bottom before we see suffiecient change- so life in the Underground will be dismal a bit longer. That said, I'm rather proud of myself to have reduced many reviewers love and instant affinity for Jareth over the course of this story. So bear with me, we are going somewhere.
Additionally, I've rather severely injured myself. The only real positive side to loosing my active life style and looking forward to likely surgery this summer is fancying myself a full time writer while recovering. I'm focusing on that silver lining, as well as selfishly asking my fan fiction friends to keep me in their thoughts and prayers.
Okay, that's officially far too much blathering.
Persephone 26
"Propriety"
"Of course Draco would pick masks for the party," Jareth griped, dangling resplendent twin faces from his gloved hand. Thoroughly mirrored with intermittent obsidian crystals, each mask covered the entire upper half of the face. He could see Sarah's instant unintelligible revulsion in her pale visage and parted-lip pout. "Come now my dear," he extended the stick to her, tightening her hand around the mask's baton. "You have nothing to fear, I promise."
"I'm not afraid," she said, exhausted from her shallow breaths and the old territory they consistently retook. "I don't like masks, that's all," she narrowed her darkly lined eyes at him in a devilish sneer, despite her quiet demeanor. "You understand." She took the mask and turned away to examine the total effect of her black gown and reflective mask in the mirror. Her tiny waist created the perfect hourglass figure between the plunging neckline which emphasized her enhanced bosom and swirling full skirts. Fortunately, a sheer chemise lining crept the length of the gown, from her ankles up her noble neck, affording her some limited privacy. It suited her; otherwise, she's simply go mad on him. Besides, he liked imagining.
"Sarah," Jareth drawled to remind her of his presence. How he longed to slide up behind her, stroke her hip and steal her into his embrace. To have her in confidence and trust. To play at battling wits on the chess board, companionably. To go for long rides in the mountains. To spend an afternoon in comfortable silence. Instead, she tore herself away from the mirror to look back at him from all the way across the room. "When we return home the roses will be all abloom," he whispered, watching her strain to hear his low dangerous voice. "I hope you will return with me to the gardens, but until then…." With the air of a practiced magician, he pulled a dark rimmed crimson blossom from his palm. A tiny huff of air escaped her lips, penetrating her silence.
The king crossed the room in two easy strides. He stood close, forcing her to stare at his chest or crane her neck up to his face; of course, she chose the later. "You look rather queenly," he appraised, cupping her chin, fingertips caressing her high cheek bone with the delicacy used to stroke a hummingbird. "Let's try to get along tonight my dear."
"Stop," Sarah whispered half-audibly, shaking her head to remove his hand.
He lowered it. "Turn around," he commanded instead, guiding her shoulders to ensure her compliance. But she was already half turning. With his lips in a thin line, he pressed the dark roses into the mass of sable tresses flowing down her neck. They added one spark of color to the full black ensemble.
As soon as his hands left her, she whirled back to face him to keep the predator away from her vulnerable back. Then the shallowness of her constrained breathing caught up with her. Sarah gasped; Jareth caught her wrists. He inhaled deeply before he spoke, sparking instant envy in her gut. "Are you quite all right?"
Every rib pressed into the boning of the corset. "Yes," she stammered, long lashes fluttering.
He frowned, noting the quiver of her lip and shallowness of breath. Releasing her hands, Jareth reached down to brush her waist, but withdrew his hand when he caught her eyes. Imaging her pain, he winced in sympathy, "Can you breathe?"
"I'm fine," she replied, not knowing how to react to the concern in his voice. And anyway, part of her worried about walking before the underground without looking absolutely perfect. She could accept the agony for that.
"Sarah darling, I would prefer you not faint while dancing with me," he said softly, dropping his head to look up into her eyes.
It made him seem younger, Sarah noticed, though she really had no idea how old he was; the corset bit into her ribs again. She cringed; his eyes narrowed. "Please Sarah. You'll excuse me while I call Sophia to assist you," he added, stepping smoothly from the room.
XXXX
"Nervous?" Jareth asked lightly a few minutes later, uneven eyes glittering behind the sparking mirror-mask.
"That I'm entering in front of all of Navarre, or that I'm with you?" she retorted, without any fire in her voice, staring at her fingers resting on the crook of his elbow. She almost pulled them away, but resolved instead to appeal to his favors later. Later, always later.
"I would imagine both," he teased, wanting to see her smile. "Ready?" he added, unsatisfied.
She didn't have a spare second to answer before the great wooden doors parted before them. Dimly, in the haziest part of her mind, Sarah heard the herald announce them with pompous prestige. It never occurred to her to wonder how she was introduced until the words float past her hearing. The masked faces washed over her, crashing down like a wave in her peripheral vision as she looked this way and that. As the roar subsided she picked out individuals in the crowd, instantaneously shocked into stillness by the dress and antics of the courtiers: an overflowing bosom here, flimsy skirts and long side slits, breeches tighter than second skin. Little in the ballroom resembled the tight formality she'd witnessed in the rest of Navarre. Behind concealing masks, propriety lost all appeal. The courtiers had literally let their hair down and intoxicated themselves with the party. Only the Goblin King's persistent stride kept her moving through the throngs of revelers. She felt instantly grateful for the mask, thrilled that her revulsion didn't show on her face as the people swept bows to the new royal pair.
Sarah knew when Draco entered behind her because of the thunderous applause and sudden taste of sulfuric smoke. She longed to turn around and look at him, to know him before his mask concealed his serpentine charms. Jareth kept her walking straight ahead until the last possible moment; she caught sight of a red death's head and cape.
"Everyone must dance the first," Jareth said, before she could crane her neck to search the swarming crowd for him. Peering around the mask, he inclined his head low, dark streaks dancing through his hair, and offered his hand. "Such is tradition," he scoffed with false disdain. Their masks met as Sarah set her left hand in his right, grinning emptily back and forth in their entwined fingers. Both pairs of eyes followed her hand's tentative sweep to the king's shoulder, pale against the black. The music began. Stepping back on her right foot, she bit her lip. His eyes softened just noticeably.
They spun quickly, flying through the courtiers. Semi-consciously, Sarah noticed that she had no idea what pattern her feet followed, though it felt a bit like a waltz in the wrong beat. He guided her seamlessly, effortlessly; with more of the Stockholm syndrome feeling of bizarre trust, she watched his eyes.
For all their wild revelry, the courtiers seemed lost in their bizarre waltz. It had once been a vulgar dance, Sarah remembered dimly in the back of her mind, when bodies were not allowed to touch. As the music crescendoed and the song shifted, she lost sight of any place where bodies were not touching. Men and women melted into each other, despite their lavish silks. Spinning in Jareth's arms, Sarah thought she caught sight of the Lady Adele's flaxen curls, but it couldn't be, not when the woman in question was pushing and thrusting her hips in response to her partner. She couldn't see either of their faces clearly enough. And that couldn't be Lindel's slender wrist, flaunting and teasing a long nosed gentleman, or Alexander, gaily helping himself to turns with young overflowing bosoms. She saw the Red Death's head, surrounded by many women, whose dresses hung torn, bearing their shoulders and pointed collar bones. His hands roamed up their ribs, and Sarah could not identify the difference between fear and ecstasy…or bald-faced ambition. How Cosette must have been hurt, alone with the high king, but there she was, twirling with her skirts flying from her hips. Sarah's head began spinning; the whole room made her grow dizzy…
Then cool leather pressed against her cheek. She noticed the final swell and fade of the song. Her eyes flicked down and spotted his hand on her cheek. Slowly, she met his gaze.
Jareth cleared his throat, moving to escort her from the floor, though his eyes wandered over the crowd. "They will try to influence you, my dear," he said dryly, pressing lightly into the small of her back when she didn't accompany him. "You must keep your wits about you."
She glanced around the room at the spinning courtiers taking up the next dance, a faster tempo with a flinging step, provocative and joyful, anything but lewd. "I think I need a drink of water," she whispered, squinting against the myriad of flashing colors.
"Of course." He nodded and guided her to long tables spread with truly unimaginable food and drink. She couldn't understand the words that tripped off his tongue. Instead, she watched him speak to a servant there, studied the ways his lips and eyes moved as he gave orders. Even after the nervous page boy darted away, the Goblin King's nimble eyes scanned the room, constantly calculating. She tried to see what he searched for, but couldn't look out at the crowd without feeling them tug at her mind. She lost a whole minute to dizziness from watching the dancers. "Sarah," he chided, snapping her mind back to the racing present, so quickly her eyes spun. He steadied her with a hand on her shoulder. "Try to focus," he said, holding a goblet to her lips.
She wrapped her hands with his around the stem for balance and took a delicate sip. The drink cleared her mind immediately; only then did she glance down at the contents of the cup. A strangle red nectar with little jewels of fruit floating on top swirled in a way far too animated for normal liquid. Sarah glanced up at the king before taking another mouthful. "This isn't water….you're not trying…," she queried, still fighting the bright haze hovering around the corners of her mind.
"I know you dislike wine," he replied patiently, steadying the goblet, then releasing it. "This will clear your head, I promise."
Tipping the goblet, Sarah sipped the drink again, collecting a puddle of liquid in the bowl of her tongue before swallowing. "It tastes familiar."
He chuckled deep in his throat, grating, "Pomegranates are not unique to my world little Sarah." He peered down into her face, absent mindedly twirling the baton of his mask between gloved fingers. "Feeling a bit better?"
She took stock of the buzz in her head before glancing around at the crowd. The courtiers still seemed to be letting their hair down, wild, lavish and profoundly sexual, but she could make out faces, and lingering hidden restraint. Sarah pursed her lips before speaking; the words tumbled out slowly, "I think so."
Jareth nodded. "That I am glad to hear."
He took to scanning the room again, with that hawk-like quest for small flickers of significant movement amongst the throngs. Sarah finished her nectar, crushing the last seeds to release the sweet juice. She wondered if Jareth was plotting, or perhaps not as sociable as she might have imagined. He seemed contented enough to hang back in the shadows. But from what little she knew of them, unlike his spot-light seeking brother, he was the sort to stay in the back ground and play silent games. He liked subtly and riddles. He brooded.
He caught her watching his face as soon as her head cleared, attempting to decipher him, and through him, the rest of the undulating court. After a long moment of silence while he basked in her clandestine gaze, Jareth cleared his throat. "Do you have a question?"
He surprised Sarah so much that even her immense vocabulary and impetuous tongue failed her. She had half opened her mouth when she heard a briefly known, but already well recognized feminine lilt floating near. "My brother and my friend!" Lindel called, breaking the pair apart in her enthusiasm. "Is this not the most fantastic fete you have ever seen!" she squealed in girlish delight, sullied curls bouncing around her face.
"I'm so thrilled to see you again," Sarah replied with a little giggle, examining Lindel's take on the wild fashion of the party. She wore a close fitting crimson velvet bodice with a corset laced over it. The fabric swelled around her breasts and hips, before flaring into a skirt slashed half way up her thighs. As the garments of the gentry went, it barely seemed provocative, but Sarah hadn't had time for a full comparison.
"Mother almost refused to let me wear this," Lindel said to her brother before Sarah could comment, "but I had the gown made special, designed for the party myself." She tossed her head from side to side as she spoke; once again, tussled as they were, the dancing curls refused to let her seem half so grown up or sexualized as the others. The effect both comforted and disconcerted Sarah.
Jareth pressed his lips into a thin line. "She should not have allowed you, little sister."
Lindel leaned into Sarah, stage-whispering in her ear, "Would you ever have guessed him so old-fashioned? Just because father wouldn't necessarily approve…"
"It's a very…daring ensemble," Sarah replied, but Lindel had already flown to another topic. To Jareth's dismay, his sister took her arm and led Sarah a few feet away, chattering; he stalked them immediately.
"You should know that all the men are just dying to dance with you. You look divine," she twirled her hair around her finger, pursing her lips, "even if he does prefer the conservative." Sarah couldn't imagine anything conservative about her dress; despite the higher neckline, the garment clung to her figure and revealed her skin through translucent fabric. Still, she supposed she could see the comparison when looking at the other women. Lindel hurried on, "And they want to know everything about just what sort of person could hold sway on both of my brothers."
"Brothers? I don't have any sway…"
Jareth cleared his throat, returning to Sarah's side. He flicked a speck of lint off her shoulder.
"Clearly you do. I honestly think you're going to start a new romantic fashion trend towards darks and sables."
"Lindel," the Goblin King interrupted, taking his sister's arm, the picture of the stern elder. "Let's not propel dear Sarah's vanity any more." At one point, Sarah might have found some amusement in his covert antics. Lindel ignored him, twisting effortlessly out of his grip.
"I suppose that is silly," she added, standing on tiptoe. "But do not think you are completely beholden to him Sarah. There are lines of important courtiers waiting to dance with you and learn all your enticing secrets." Though Lindel hadn't meant the words with any menace, they raised individual hairs on the back of Sarah's neck. The other girl whispered in her ear as if they were playing telephone in grade school, "They want to know how to best the labyrinth, and how the human world works, and…"
"Lindel," her brother cleared his throat again, "Please."
Lindel stuck her tongue out at him, completely childish in her otherwise rather mature get-up. Sarah had never read Lolita, but she supposed it something similar. "Do not suppose that I only came this way to beg for a partner," Lindel teased, tossing her head back to laugh. "I didn't just come to dance with you; I want to talk to Sarah as well." She gave the other girl a knowing look, though Sarah couldn't be entirely sure what she meant to convey- something more than mischievous.
"The Idenza is next," the Goblin King cut in as new music swelled, tapping his foot impatiently despite the smile lines creasing around his eyes. "Shall we?"
Sarah knew the look he gave her meant 'stay put,' and honestly, when Lindel took his hand to walk away, she had no intention of doing otherwise. She'd slowly finish her drink instead, perhaps brave asking for another, now that she didn't fear alcohol. Even without the obscuring masks, she knew precious few of the players here. She didn't even know who was dangerous, save Draco himself. And she wouldn't tempt him by exploring the crowd. But just before disappearing into the swirling dance, Lindel called back over her shoulder, "You must not worry Sarah, of course I've brought you a partner too!"
He tapped her on the shoulder. Spinning round, Sarah recognized him immediately. "Good evening," he said, pulling his long nosed mask aside. "Allow me to introduce myself. Lord Merfin, at your service Lady Sarah." He swept a deep bow and came up with a gentle kiss on her second knuckle. Without a spare second to curse herself for the cliché, Sarah's heart skipped a beat. Then her blood froze.