Co-authored by QuaintLullabies and LadyOfTheCelticLand.
Jareth watched from the shadows as the fire, a small spark of a thing at first, now licked at the sky as if it would touch the stars. He brought the rim of his glass to his lips again, already a bottle and a half of goblin wine in, as he watched the festivities. It had been six years since he'd even made an appearance at the Ēostre festivals. Eleven years since he'd participated, though never in a "traditional" way: the unique bond between him and his brother provided magic strong and plentiful enough on its own, thereby rendering the traditional ritual...superfluous. That and, of course, he couldn't risk showing his the precise nature of his power to an otherwise oblivious Fae woman.
In the past, he'd taken to watching the festivities from his castle through one of his crystals, making sure nothing got too out of hand - goblins were notoriously wreckless creatures - and retired to his chambers at first light.
This year, however, Sarah had made it clear in no uncertain terms that she would be there, regardless of whether Jareth would be attending or not. He'd of course told her no - that he forbade it - and Sarah simply laughed and walked away, tossing "I'd like to see you try and stop me" over her shoulder before sauntering back into her chambers.
She'd been sleeping there since the incident in the sparring room and the subsequent, unexpected magic lesson thereafter. In classic Sarah-fashion, she showed no signs of forgiving him, or trusting him again, or appearing to even think about doing those things. He supposed, in her position, he'd feel the same. He'd been an ass of the first degree.
Currently, he was leaning on his shoulder against one of the old oaks on the edge of the forest, mostly scanning the crowd for any possible threats. And Sarah. He was watching Sarah. And not just because he wanted to make sure she was safe.
Aine had outdone herself in dressing the Queen-to-be. Her dress, which Jareth had most definitely not approved for public display, was a deep emerald green, almost the color of her eyes. The front of the dress was cut low, only held up by twining branches, ivy, and gold leaves. The back of the dress started at the small of her back, ivy snaking its way down her arms. It stopped short enough that Jareth had thought about immediately dragging her back to the castle when he saw it. The skirt flared out like individual leaves every time she spun around.
Which she was currently doing, dancing in and out of the faerie ring. She wore no shoes, and most of her exposed skin - too much of it - was wrapped in gold ribbons and ivy. Upon her head, she wore a crown of flowers and ribbon, her face and body generously dusted with gold dust.
She was everything he had ever wanted. Everything he would ever want again.
And currently she was on display for most of the kingdom.
He suppressed a low growl again, and was wondering how many more glasses of wine would be required to subdue the possessive animal nature in him, when Earnon approached him.
"Good Ēostre, Sire," he said, handing him another glass of wine.
"To you as well, Earnon," he replied automatically. He sighed, switching out his empty glass for the full one.
"Is something troubling you, Your Majesty?" his friend asked, concern in his tone.
"Yes. No," he muttered. "Just my future wife practically naked, dancing in a faerie ring. I could just blind everyone that has seen her, I suppose. She would be a vision as the last thing they saw…" he trailed off.
"Future wife, Sire?" The fae was astounded. "Has she agreed to wed you, then?"
"No. I've not asked," Jareth said, finally looking away to meet his advisor's eyes. "But she will. Eventually," he amended. If he was to be honest with himself, he had no idea if she would ever would.
But he wouldn't stop asking.
Jareth turned back to the crowd, trying not to let his gaze linger on Sarah any more than necessary. It had been six weeks since she'd slept in his bed; she'd taken to retiring before him and shutting the door to her chambers. They'd spoken very little during the day, and even during their sparring, she'd kept her comments on the task at hand. She'd taken to eating her meals in the castle gardens; he'd spotted her more than once listlessly looking up at the sky. She'd seemed sad, and all he wanted was to go to her, to plead or beg for her forgiveness, but the High King of the Fae did not beg. However, he would, per her request, give her the space she demanded.
He'd not touched her since that night.
"Aine is out there," he said suddenly, inclining his head toward the bonfire. "It's quite the scandal," he added mildly, eyes twinkling.
"Sire? What - how?" Earnon gasped, face draining of color. "But I told her - Has she lost her mind? She should not be out there! She is but a handmaiden. I shall collect her at once, My King!"
"Be at ease, Earnon. Sarah is intent on allowing all fae to participate in such celebrations. I shall not argue with her on this matter. Gods know I've tried for things of much less importance. It seems she's a queen already even before coronation - making proclamations and decrees without even realizing the significance," he mused. "But, yes - Aine - she is out there. In crimson, if I am not mistaken. It seems that was also by Sarah's request. You should find her. Go, partake. You'll hear no protest from me. Someone should enjoy the party," he said, chuckling ruefully.
Earnon stared at his King, slack-jawed for several moments, though Jareth didn't deign to acknowledge him. "Shall you be joining us this evening, Sire?" he asked, and Jareth thought he sounded hopeful.
"I don't believe so, Earnon. It's best I stay here and keep an eye on things."
"You have not participated in many years, Your Majesty."
"I am aware, Earnon," Jareth said with an arch of his eyebrow.
"You should at least come out for a few moments, Jareth," Earnon said, unexpectedly using his personal name. "The people would love to see you."
Jareth rolled his eyes, downed the rest of his wine, and considered it. That was a justifiable reason. As was the fact that it would be easier to keep an eye on Sarah if he were closer.
He'd missed her so much in those few weeks.
He nodded his head in acquiescence. He'd make a swift appearance, if for no other official reason than to fill his goblet once again. He pushed off the tree, grabbing his crown. It was different than his normal circlet: it was wooden, carved in the likeness of stag-like antlers to represent the male king, a matched pair Sarah's own crown to symbolize the female earth.
….Female earth that was, he grumbled inwardly, showing entirely too much skin at the moment.
He followed beside Earnon to the clearing and spotted Aine first. He nudged the darker-haired man and pointed. "She's over there," Jareth said.
Of course Aine was right next to Sarah; it wasn't until Jareth had taken his eyes from his lover that he'd even really comprehended another being in her vicinity. Aine and Sarah looked genuinely happy - and possibly very drunk - as they swung together in a circle. The grin on Sarah's face was as bright as the stars and, as such, lit up the entire crowd, even as a fire three stories high burned in front of her.
It was entrancing.
Aine and Sarah had just stumbled apart, having lost the grip on each other's hands. Sarah was laughing in glorious abandon -
When one very inebriated, very foolish, male fae entered the ring.
This portion of the community celebration called for females alone to dance around the fire, awakening the mother earth and rejoicing in the sisterhood of fertility. All the adults knew that while much of this evening was merriment, these rituals nevertheless were sacred. Usually, a tipsy male getting too excited by anticipation and entering the circle before the appointed time was harmless, and he was quietly and immediately removed. There was inevitably one each year.
With this in mind, Jareth had sent out a royal decree of his own earlier that day along with Sarah's, and he had expected his people to pass on word to their families. Without exception, no male was to touch Sarah tonight unless she was on his arm. All Fae understood the possessiveness between a mated pair, and to touch the Queen-to-be while she was being wooed by the High King of the Fae was to directly incite Challenge.
Any Challenge offered would result in combat to the death.
...Especially now, when Sarah defied his hunger and love again and again, and the wine flowing sluggishly in his veins could be just as easily be sparked to fire. He normally prided himself on his control, but tonight, he was holding onto it by a thread.
A thin thread, frayed and pulled tight.
It seemed that this fae had forgotten, or deliberately disregarded, the strictly-worded warning of the King. Was the boy suicidal? Jareth wondered. As the king turned to keep watch, his own goblet sloshing over his hand, Jareth identified him as the son of one of his counsel members - young, even by mortal standards. The youth's drunken stumbles were lending him a sort of odd agility, ducking and evading the grabbing hands of exasperated standersby, as he tangled gracelessly between the dancers and traveled along the circle.
Jareth watched, tensing, as the boy danced closer and closer to Sarah.
The fae placed his hands upon Sarah's hips and pulled her flush against him, aligning their bodies chest-to-chest and thigh-to-thigh.
The possessive rage in Jareth's veins roared to life.
The entire crowd gasped in unison and stopped moving. The air filled with hissing: the crime being described and passed along like a fell wind through the crowd. Heedless of the change he had wrought, the soon-to-be-dead boy's fingers tangled in her dark, sleek hair, and he lowered his face as if he would kiss her glittering crimson lips.
The thread snapped.
His vision filled with red, and his fingers shot forth a burst of uncontrolled magic that scorched the earth in a circle around him.
Sarah was shoving the boy away. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded, her voice echoing in the silent clearing. "How dare you!"
She turned, saw Jareth, and paled. Justifiably, he agreed inwardly, as his magic crackled all around him like lightning. He allowed it to be visible to everyone, magic and non-magic fae alike, with such intensity that the air dropped in temperature to almost freezing.
He was ice, and rage, and fury - and Sarah would be sensing all of it.
It seemed there would be more than one sacrifice to the old spirits that evening.
"His Majesty, the High King of the Fae!" Earnon's voice announced tonelessly from somewhere. Everyone stopped and turned toward him.
And knelt simultaneously.
Except for Sarah, and the damned boy. She lurched forwards a step, one arm stretching behind her as though she would try to physically shield him.
As if could she hold Jareth in place.
She had to know what would come next. Jareth didn't just make examples of people when it came to her safety. Jareth killed her enemies, and she would be right to envision what the grass beneath her bare feet would look like soaked in the condemned fae's blood.
"Your Majesty, please," she begged, instinctively standing very still. Ah, at last. A few things had finally resonated with her: she was never to use his given name in public. "He's a boy. He's a stupid boy, but there's no need to hurt him. He did no harm."
Her eyes were wide and pleading, but he ignored her as the boy, at last comprehending the mortal peril to his short, short life, dropped to his knees behind her.
Jareth stalked, predatory intent in every step. He had made an effort to keep this side of him carefully hidden and under control around her, but no more.
Too long.
Too long she'd denied him her touch, her scent lingering on his bed sheets, the tickle of her hair across his chest. Too long since he'd heard her whisper his name as her nails scored his back. Too long since he had buried himself in her, deep within her hot, silken clasp, and felt her explode ecstatically within his arms. Too long since he had filled her, claiming her, marking her as his.
Too long since he'd awoken beside her, her sun-glazed limbs draped lazily across his body - exactly where his queen should be.
Too long.
But before he could lay a hand on the boy, Sarah stood on her tiptoes, wrapped her arms around Jareth's neck -
And kissed him.
For a moment he was stunned. But only for a moment, until finally, his lips began to move against hers feverishly. She was a burning firebrand in his arms, her tongue fierce and demanding as she took his mouth. Her hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt as his hands slid against the bare skin of her back and lower. And squeezed hard.
He growled deep in his throat - feral and possessive. The implication was crystal clear:
Mine.
A moment later, everything froze. Every creature was a statue. The wind through the trees fell silent. The fire was as motionless as a painting. Everyone was caught in time except for the two of them.
Sarah pulled back for air. "Jareth," she whispered.
He allowed her no more time than a quick breath, tilting her backwards so that she was draped over his forearm. His lips trailed along the column of her neck, soft and gentle.
"How would you like me to kill him, hmm, Sarah-mine? He would make a lovely sacrifice to the old spirits. Shall I burn him alive? The fire has been rising for hours now," he purred.
Her eyes widened.
"I could skin him; it would take some time, but the sun is hours away, and I would enjoy it. Or I could simply behead him and leave his corpse to be devoured by vultures. The decision is entirely yours."
He smiled as he inhaled the sweet fragrance of her skin. Oh, yes. Mine.
"Jareth, no," she whispered, shaking her head.
"No?" he purred. "Why ever not? He laid his hands upon what is mine. He Challenged me, after I had given explicit orders that they were not to touch what did not belong to them. Surely at least a maiming is justified, if not a beheading?"
"No," she said again, cupping his face with her hands as her eyes searched his. "Have you learned nothing?" she demanded. "I am not a toy, Jareth. I am not a thing you possess and flaunt. You wanted a queen? An equal? Here I am. I am telling you: let him go. You've made your point. He's properly terrified, and considering the look on every face here," she glanced around in gesture to unseeing faces frozen in fear, "it isn't a mistake someone will make in the future."
He growled deep in his chest. "No," he agreed emphatically, "they won't."
She continued as though she hadn't heard him. "You, and all of our friends, have been telling me to think as though I am a queen. Well, it is time for you to do the same. It's not only my actions that everyone is watching - it is yours as well. Think rationally, like a king, not hotly like a lover. The punishment must fit the crime. I have heard over and over again how you have earned the love and trust of your people by judging fairly. Do you now value that acclaim so cheaply, and trample it?"
"Besides," she added severely as his eyebrows drew together in a frown, "Your Majesty, the line between a monarch and a tyrant is very thin when a king has as much power as you do. I would hope that a truly great ruler, beloved of his people as you are, might even show mercy."
His eyes flashed, and he opened his mouth to reply. She interrupted again, her tone now gentle. "And... Jareth," and her voice was a soft caress over the syllables, "hasn't enough blood been spilled because of an accident?"'
Jareth's eyes passed over her face in quiet deliberation for several long moments, then he sighed heavily. "You speak with the sharp intuition of a queen, and I...am forced to acknowledge the wisdom of what you say. You are a boon to him this evening, Sarah. I will spare his life. And his hands, which I so desperately would like to remove."
"Thank you," she said, taking in a deep, shaky breath.
After a pause, he said, "Dance with me."
"There's no music playing," she pointed out, the corner of her pretty mouth quirking up.
"There will be, in a moment," he promised. He allowed his eyes betray his vulnerability as they met hers. "Dance with me, precious thing, for I have missed you terribly."
He wanted her - every part of her. But, for now, this would do.
"Will you unfreeze everyone first, please?" she asked.
"How many times have I told you? They're not frozen; they're simply suspended in Time," he said fondly, brushing her hair back from her face, allowing just the hint of a smile to play at the corner of his lips.
"Semantics," she said with an answering smile, and he watched as it grew bigger when he chuckled.
"Of course," he conceded. "But accurate."
It was a moment before Sarah spoke again, though Jareth was partially distracted by her fingertips as they brushed up and down the fabric of his shirt. "I'm still angry with you," she said with a frown, not quite meeting his eyes now.
"I know," he breathed, tucking her into his body.
"And we have a lot of shit to work out. So much more than I thought."
"We do, indeed," he said, squeezing her just a little tighter. "I will, as you say, work with you through this 'shit.' Will you do the same with me?"
"Yes, I want that. I… I've missed you, too," she said finally.
His hands cupped her face, lifting it to his, so that he could place his lips to hers. This is was gentle, sweet - and utterly consuming. A wine-sweet benediction. When he lifted his mouth from hers, her gold-painted eyelids had fluttered shut. He grinned. "For that, I am glad. Well, shall we?"
"Shall we what?" Sarah asked dazedly.
"Unfreeze everyone?"
"Mhmm." Sarah nodded, fingers lazily tracing patterns across his chest. He felt her hands fist in his shirt before she stepped away, as if she were fighting with herself about letting him go or pulling him closer. He made the decision for them both, using his fingers to tilt her head back so that he could look directly into her eyes.
Without any warning, without any effort on his part at all, life was breathed back into the gathering.
"Rise," he said, keeping his eyes on Sarah.
The entire assembled crowd rose from their knees or from their curtsies. The young male fae launched from his knees to cast himself prostrate on the ground between them. "Please, my lord, please, I -"
I could still castrate him with the sheep-shearers. Sarah raised an eyebrow at Jareth, and with gritted teeth, he nodded once, jerkily. Damn it.
He kept his gaze on her as he ground out, "Know that your future queen has spared your life this night. You are dismissed. Get out of my sight. Quickly."
The fae bolted with such alacrity that Sarah couldn't make him out once he pushed his way into the crowd. There were a few astonished mutters, and somewhere, a woman wailed in relief.
"Glory and praise to King Jareth!" someone else shouted.
"Glory and praise!" the crowd rejoined.
As if nothing happened, the festivities continued. Once the music started again, Jareth's hands were all over Sarah. Look, but do not touch, was the warning in his eyes to anyone who dared to meet them.
After Sarah caught him glaring again at some young fae men, he decided to admit defeat. "I reacted… rashly this evening," he - very quietly - admitted to her with a frown. "At my age, I should have better self control. When you're involved, everything gets turned upside down. I'm -"
Sarah placed her finger to his lips. "Shhh. Now isn't the time nor the place. We can talk about this tomorrow. Tonight, there is a celebration and a feast I'm supposed to oversee and - and… Well, I've already lost sight of quite a few fae - Gods above only know what they're off doing."
"You know very well what they're off doing," he said, eyebrow arched.
"Yes," she admitted with a roll of her eyes. "Yes, I do. My point," she said, swatting his chest, "is that there are too many things happening right now for us to have that conversation. I'm having fun. Let's enjoy the festivities, let them see that you're enjoying yourself too, even after that little display."
Her brow furrowed. "What was that little light show before, anyway?"
He narrowed his eyes at her. "It happens occasionally, when I am in a … heightened emotional state. It actually happens quite frequently when I'm inside you," he purred, watching the color rise to her cheeks. "I'm surprised you haven't noticed."
Sarah swallowed.
"Then again, our magic is so connected, you may have felt it more than seen it." He leaned down and placed another feather-light kiss to her lips.
Sarah closed her eyes, her hands tightening on his hips as he moved them through the crowd. He spun her around, her bare back to his chest, and Sarah arched into him, arms raised to his neck, as Jareth's arms wrapped around her waist. Sarah tilted her head; Jareth needing no prompting, placing his lips to her neck.
There was no one else in the universe apart from them, and his hands searched for every single exposed bit of her skin that they could reach. One hand around her waist, the other cupping the back of her head, he dipped his lips down to her ear. "I thought we'd had a conversation about the tops of your thighs, dearest. I remember it quite clearly." He nibbled the edge with his teeth - not hard, but sharply enough to make his point.
"You'll get over it," Sarah said with a laugh. "Aine is a talented seamstress and, well, almost everyone in the kingdom just saw what happens if they touch me, so… I think it's ok."
"It most certainly isn't 'ok,'" he whispered. "But we'll talk about it later. At length," he said, humor tinting his words.
Sarah didn't outwardly say anything, but he could feel the heat roll off her skin. His mouth was on hers a heartbeat later as her arms draped around his neck. The music was rising, and as he spun her around, Jareth was still moving them through the crowd, though there wasn't an inch of space between them. His mouth never left hers, and - he realized with great amusement - Sarah was too distracted to be embarrassed about it.
Jareth could feel the eyes of everyone in the clearing on them both and, while their display was perhaps a bit inappropriate in full public, he simply couldn't find the energy to care. Couldn't summon the willpower to untangle himself from her. Let them look, a part of his brain declared as he moved his hand down to her jaw, angling her face for more access. Let them see their king and queen. Let them see the bond between you and know there is no act, nothing so terrible that he wouldn't do to keep her safe. Let them see her in all her passion, the strength of her magic, her absolute devotion to him. His absolute devotion to her. Let them see and know her.
It could have been minutes or hours before it was over. Sarah finally opened her eyes, and she also realized that every other dancer had cleared the area, watching them. When she met Jareth's gaze again, her emerald eyes were glowing golden with magic. Soon - not now, but soon - he would find out what was doing such a thing. Why her magic was so powerful here and now - he had his suspicions, but he would need confirmation. It wasn't just the Ēostre celebrations, though that would certainly explain some of it. No - it was something else entirely.
Jareth touched his lips to hers one last time and shivered. Her magic was wild and tempting, powerful and inviting, and he could feel her - her pulse, the sound of her heart, the very essence of her being -
He could feel it on his skin.
He wanted nothing more than to ravish her in the middle of their gathered subjects, sound and sight be damned. Instead, he stepped back, breaking the kiss, and dipped his head in deference. "I am honored by your dance, Your Grace," he said regally.
"As I am by yours, Your Majesty, " Sarah said with equal dignity, bowing her head. Her eyes were fading back to the vivid green he'd memorized a decade before. Beneath her her gold-dusted eyelashes, she looked up at him.
And winked.
"You may rise, my Champion," he whispered, and swallowed hard. If he had wanted to ravish her before, he was now ready to banish everyone from the kingdom to have his way with her against every surface he could push her up against. "Come with me. Now."
They left the dance area of the field, back into the refreshment quarter, and were immediately bombarded by polite requests for dances. They both declined. Jareth knew that they were requested out of respect; neither he nor Sarah were expected to accept.
Jareth laced his fingers with hers as they reached the forefront of the celebration field, and pulled her to the makeshift throne. One had been constructed each year, but had not been occupied for over a decade.
He lounged across the arm of the throne, just as he'd always done, but he tugged her to him so that she could drape herself across his thighs, her arms crossed over his knees, and chin upon her hands as she looked out over the revelers. Jareth stroked her hair, twirling his fingers around the many ribbons that dangled from her crown of flowers, and wondered if Sarah could feel how deeply enjoyable it was to have her luscious, warm hindquarters pressing squarely against his hips.
Sarah waved to Aine and Earnon when she caught their attention. She looked so happy that it almost made Jareth jealous. He wanted that easy smile to be directed at him. It would be a while before he regained her trust - that he knew - but he hated to admit how much control she really had over him.
It was a long while before Sarah shifted and wriggled across Jareth's lap to stand. She stretched on her tiptoes, arms above her head, and Jareth's eyes narrowed at the newly exposed skin as her dress lifted higher.
She was offered wine by a servant, and accepted, about to take a sip, before the goblet was snatched from her hand. She blinked. Jareth waited until Sarah met his eyes, and shook his head minutely. He gestured to the man who'd taken her goblet back and watched as he sipped the wine cautiously.
After a beat, the wine was handed back to her. He watched the realization dawn on her face after a beat: she was not to eat or drink anything handed to her before it was tested. From the look on her face, Jareth was reasonably certain they would have a conversation about that as well.
As if coming to a decision, she nodded and squared her shoulders. She downed the remaining wine in two swallows and walked toward the towering bonfire, throwing her goblet carelessly into it as she walked by. Suddenly, Jareth noticed the firelight-gilded daisies that sprung up under her feet as she moved. He sat up on his throne and watched her.
Curious. And unexpected.
And she was heading towards the Labyrinth.
She stopped only for a moment to look over her shoulder at him - a sultry invitation for him to follow - before she turned around the hedge corner and vanished from sight.
He stood, set his glass down, and followed the trail of flowers into the Labyrinth.
Silence.
"Where are you, my little tree nymph?" he breathed. He stepped forward, deeper into the Labyrinth, but he could not sense her. "Haven't I told you before, my precious thing?" he purred. "Little girls that run get chased."
"If you want me, you'll first have to find me!"
He stalked forward, going still when he heard movement behind him.
"I know who you are," he heard her whisper. He whirled, and saw the edge of her dress disappear around a corner. He dashed towards her, but by the time he'd rounded the pathway, it had become a dead end.
Somehow, Sarah was controlling the Labyrinth.
His earlier suspicions were confirmed. He would be having a talk with the Being responsible later.
"More importantly, I know what you are."
He spun again - he could smell her - vanilla, cinnamon, jade, and dewy grass, and rain in the spring.
She was, again, not there by the time he identified which direction the sound had come from.
"Really? And what do you think I am, Sarah?" he asked her. His voice was quiet, but he knew she could hear him. If she did know the truth, it would explain a lot of her behavior over the last few weeks.
"Shall I name you? In which form?" she asked. She sounded breathless. So she did know. At least a little. For a brief moment, he could feel her - steady heartbeat, magic tentative - and he again gave chase towards her pull.
She felt... curious. About him. His Sarah was always curious. It was a trait that would get her into trouble one day, he thought wryly. Unexpectedly, something like relief settled over him. If she knew even a portion of what he thought she might, there was hope that she would understand the rest.
He caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye, just the faintest shimmer of magic, and abruptly changed direction.
He rounded another area of the hedge maze and arrived just in time to see her walk backwards into a wall, which swallowed her up without a sound. He used his magic to part the wall, the same way she had, but she was not on the other side.
"Oh, why not?" he drawled. "The old names are so dated, but I am curious what you've learned. Your
lot never get it completely right," he said with a small smile. It was silent for a long moment. He stopped, tilting his head, listening for a change in the air. His eyes turned black, as when in owl form, and he glanced around for her.
"Puck," was the laughing answer in the air. "Loki - neither of those are surprisingly, really. It seems you've always been a trouble maker."
He almost imagine her grinning, but he'd caught her scent and silently turned in her direction. "You're one to talk, my sweet," he murmured with a soft chuckle. "Please, continue."
"Chronos," she whispered again. "And Shai. And others." The sound came on a breath of wind, swirling around him. He could even hear the soft echo of her breath catch when he did not deny it.
Ah. So she knew even more.
He closed his eyes and listened once more, pushed his magic out into the Labyrinth, and it answered. He could feel her moving, delicate feet bare upon the warm grass. He could hear her heartbeat, could feel it in his own chest.
Eyes closed, he stepped sideways and held his arm out, catching her by her waist, finally, as she tried to dash past, and swung her around to meet him.
He held her there for a moment, her back to his chest, and felt her shiver. He slowly turned her to face him, his hands rising up to grasp to her upper arms, and walked her backwards against a massive willow tree that had sprung up into existence at his wordless command.
She wouldn't be running off again.
The fronds enclosed them in velvet darkness. He could see his face in the reflection of her luminescent green eyes, reflected in his own glowing ones as he waited. Sarah was a very intelligent girl - witty and clever - and he didn't doubt that she had also uncovered the last one.
"But most recently, Phantasus, brother of Morpheus, one of the three Oneiroi," she said, breathless - although he couldn't tell if it was from running from him, or the magic she'd used to change the landscape of the Labyrinth, or if it was his proximity to her.
Either way, it seemed she was waiting for a confirmation of her accusation.
"Yes, precious thing," he whispered, letting his eyes glow white for just a moment to accentuate his point. He leaned his forearm against the trunk above her head, and wondered if she would run away if he stepped aside. "I am all of those things."
"We - mortals - called you a god," she whispered after a long beat.
"Yes," he confirmed, his breath trailing across her skin. He grabbed her chin between his index finger and thumb, and tilted her head back against the rough wood. "Does this frighten you?" he asked as he leaned in, his teeth grazing her jaw.
"Yes," she answered quickly, and gasping as he kissed the pulse point in her throat.
"A wise reaction indeed, sweetling. I have seen the creation of worlds. I have seen them burn. I have seen time eternal. So, believe me when I say: I have had more than enough of time to think on such matters, and there is nothing I desire more than you. For eternity."
"Which we both know that isn't possible for humans," she whispered, now frantically untucking his shirt, slipping her hands beneath to run her palms across his chest. Even that wasn't enough, and she began unbuttoning the fine silk at his throat and down his chest, pushing it over his shoulders as far as she could.
He chuckled. How typical of his Sarah. "You know my true nature and you presume to tell me what is possible?" he laughed, lips hovering over hers.
And then a pause. "And if you know of me, you know of my brothers' story, as well?" he asked seriously.
"Yes," she replied, lifting her face to touch her lips to his, but he moved just out of reach. He'd not touched her in so long, and he could afford a few more minutes of anticipation before allowing himself to taste her again.
"How did you figure it out?"
"Books," she whispered, fingertips dancing along the flat plains of his chest. "Books said 'brothers,' but mentioned you and Marcas by name." She pressed her lips to his chest, making Jareth hiss involuntarily as her tongue darted out to taste him.
His hand flew to her hair, massaging her scalp until his grip tightened and he pulled it back, forcing her to look up at his face again. The command for her to continue her explanation was implicit in the look he pinned on her.
"It didn't sit right," she said, her hands coming to rest lightly on his stomach, taking a very slow trip southward. "Brothers. Over and over again. And then I found the entry for your coronation. Marcas was gifted a kingdom. You ascended as High King. One kingdom to remain unoccupied. Three brothers, not two."
He grabbed her wrists before they could drift any further, and kept hold of them. "My clever girl," he whispered. "And now you understand why we must protect what is ours?"
"I do," she whispered. "We can't let Lorcan gain hold of this magic. He'll destroy everything."
He nodded, eyes searching hers, magic reaching out to touch her. Apprehension. Confusion. Fear. Warmth. Acceptance.
Love.
Love, and love, and love.
"Marry me, Sarah," he whispered.
She didn't answer and he could see her considering his proposal carefully. "No," she answered, shaking her head.
"Very well," he said with a wry chuckle, leaning back and his eyes raking over her.
She'd outright refused him. In this moment, knowing who and what he was. It sent a shiver down his spine. The Fates had truly made her specifically for him.
The things he wanted to give her, to do for her.
The things he wanted to do to her.
His eyes were glowing again, terrifying and beautiful; he heard her take in a shaky breath. "What do you wish of me, mortal?" he asked, all ancient formality, his voice low, a rumble that shook the ground beneath her feet.
Her eyes changed once more, glowing - gold orbs encased in emerald rings, as if to challenge his classification of her. No, not mortal. Not completely. Not anymore.
"I offer myself to you, on this day of Ēostre," she said, and he realized she was speaking the words of the ancient ritual. Initiating them into the ritual he'd never… never allowed himself to partake of. "To renew the magic of our people and our land. Lay hold of me at your will, Your Majesty, for I am yours," she finished, tipping her head back, exposing her throat to him.
"A more than worthy offering," he purred in reply, dipping his head low. He lifted her arms, her wrists above her head, and he shivered with anticipation.
Mine.
"Magnificent," he murmured as he leaned in, taking in her scent; it was something written in his very blood, part of his essence. She was a vision, throat offered, displayed for him in a way no other would ever see; he couldn't resist trailing his fingers down the column of her neck. He secured her wrists there with magic and stepped back, admiring her, bright and shimmering like stardust, offered to him with complete trust.
His eyes darkened as he watched her test the bonds at her delicate hands, felt the invisible pull against his magic. He could see the realization dawn on her face. Beyond that, she didn't twitch or shift. She simply waited, back arched against the willow tree, eyes closed. He could feel her - terrified, but trusting, unable to move, blind to the world in this black-green darkness, relying completely on the sound of his voice.
He shrugged off his shirt, tossing it carelessly onto the grass at his feet.
"You would draw the envy and ire of the old spirits," he whispered, kneeling at her feet. He trailed his fingers up her lean legs, and then under what was almost-passing as a dress. "But you are not for the old spirits, are you, Sarah?" he asked as he hooked his fingers under her undergarments - which he suspected entirely too many people had seen that evening - and peeled them down slowly into view.
There were no words.
The fabric was diaphanous, gold, and shimmering. And - blessed spirits - they were secured with tassels.
Tassels.
Dark gold tassels dangling from neat, loosely tied loops, now slipping loose around her thighs.
His fingertips tightened bruisingly around her flesh.
"No," she breathed. "I am not for them."
"Who are you for, Sarah?" It was the next line in the ceremony, and he didn't care that growing deep hunger had roughened his voice as he uttered it. He trailed his fingers down one leg, lifting it and draping it over his shoulder.
"You, Your Majesty," she answered barely above a whisper.
"That will never do, lovely," he said with a dark chuckle, lifting her left leg to join her right and letting her body weight settle on his shoulders; he could feel the shiver that shot through her. "Let's try that again, sweetling. Say your right words. Who are you for?"
She took a moment to find her voice, but when she did, it was strong and clear. "I am for you, Your Majesty," she said with precise enunciation.
"And you give yourself as an offering freely and of your own will?" he whispered against the inside of her thigh, giving her a little introductory nip - enough to leave his mark.
"I do," she whimpered, arching her back. He knew she want him to touch her - to use his mouth on her. The magic that was rolling off her in waves told him far more than any words ever could.
"For the renewal of the magic of our people and this land, this offering is gladly accepted."
And he lifted to his knees, his tongue laving against her nectar-drenched folds.
Sarah hissed in a breath and arched her back, but Jareth's arms were like bands of steel around her thighs, holding her in place, keeping her hips slightly angled so that he could lick and suck and tease and taste of her until he was satisfied. Again, and again, and again, she cried out into the night - cries of passion, of need, and of desire.
Her head stayed back at a sharp angle, her throat offered for him to devour, and when he was satisfied, when Sarah had bucked wildly against his lips, pleading and begging, for the third time, he stood, lowered his britches and locked her ankles around his waist.
"Happy Ēostre, my queen," he whispered in her ear, before he reared back and plunged into her in one hard thrust.
His mouth attacked her throat as she moaned and arched into him. Had she not denied him her touch for so long, he may have been more gentle, but at the present moment, he had no inclination to be.
He freed her hands and they immediately wrapped around his neck, her mouth finding his hungrily as her fingers tangled in his hair.
She finally looked at him, eyes glowing liquid sunlight, and in that moment, he knew he would never crave another thing. Until time itself ceased to exist, it would be her, and her only. This mortal filled with magic and wonder. This human that tasted of spring -
No, not human. Something else entirely.
She was all that mattered to him and he would burn down the universe to keep her with him.
"Jareth, please," she whispered against his mouth, all formality and procedure gone - once again, it was just he and his Sarah. "Harder..."
"As you wish," he said, and he lowered them to the ground, then spun her hips until she was on her knees. He grasped her, mounted her, and rammed forwards again. He was driving himself into her furiously, and around them, flowers bloomed in waves like the sea - daffodil and crocus. Honeysuckle and morning glory. Magnolia and violet.
He sat back on his knees, driving into her deeper as she arched beneath him, arms outstretched, sinuous spine and buttock and luscious thigh gleaming beneath the slivers of moonlight. The smell of lilac drifted past his nose, and if Jareth couldn't tell that she'd fallen over the precipice by the way her inner muscles clenched his length, he would have known by the sheer volume of flowers that sprung up around them - the way the blossoms wove themselves in her dark hair as if alive, around her arms and wrists.
An offering to him and their land.
After a few more frantic thrusts, he spilled himself inside of her, panting.
It was only then that he looked up at the scene before him.
Sarah met his gaze, her eyes glowing like emeralds, on a bed of flowers. She smirked up at him. Their entire private courtyard of the Labyrinth had been blanketed in bright blooms, reds and oranges and pinks and deep, deep blues.
At her defiant look, he realized he was ready to have her again. Her magic stronger than before, insatiable, and she crooked her finger at him, eyes alight, the corner of her mouth quirked up.
"And what of the offering due to me, Goblin King?" she asked, her voice a throaty whisper.
His eyes flashed.
So this was the way it was supposed to be. So long, so many years, and he never knew what this could feel like. This connection. It was instinct, not memory, that had him lowering himself over her. With his weight supported on his forearms, fingers lazily twisting in the dark strands of her hair, his breath escaped him. Whorls of mud streaked her body like a nymph or earth-spirit, and crushed petals fell from her hair with every pass of his fingers.
She was stunning - absolute perfection - and she owned him - every part, his entire being, everything he was and ever would be; all the power and magic contained within him belonged to her.
It was humbling.
And terrifying.
And still he couldn't stop himself from speaking the words - his right words - that tied him and his magic to her.
She knew. She had to know. The words she'd spoken…
A marriage proposal - a marriage - was nothing compared to what was about to happen.
And he'd waited his whole life for it.
"On this Ēostre, I offer myself," he whispered, his head dipping low to pepper kisses along her collarbones, her kiss-marked throat, her sweat-misted shoulders. "I return myself to this land, through you, my vessel, for renewal of our magic." He placed a kiss below her ear. "For the prosperity of our people." Another kiss to each of her eyelids. "And for the sanctity of our lands." He pressed his lips, ever so softly, to hers.
"I offer myself freely and of my own will," he whispered against her lips; he cradled her head as he rolled them over, switching their positions. He watched, amazed, as ivy crawled up her legs, weaving their way across her torso, newly-blooming flowers opening, gifting them their perfume.
He slowly, deliberately, raised his arms above his head to the ground and kept them there, a mirror of her position before -
He was hers, and hers only. No other would have him, just as no other would have her.
Dominance and submission: two sides of the same coin...something he never understood before.
He understood now.
"Lay hold of me at your will, my Queen, for I am yours."
Her eyes flashed golden again, and he could feel the power surging through her. He needed her - every part of her, every inch of her skin, every touch, every whisper.
"This offering is accepted," she whispered, dipping her face down to lick from his collarbone to his chin; he purred beneath her. Jareth couldn't see her through the curtain of her dark, fragrant tresses, but felt her hips raise, delicate hand around his length, and position him at her entrance.
Slowly she lowered herself and he couldn't resist, hands flying to her hips, fingertips teasing up and down her sides as she took her pleasure from him. She grabbed his hands and forced them back above his head in supernatural strength, slamming them in the soft dirt, and holding him in place at her leisure. It was all he could do not to scream out as he felt the pressure of her knees at his lithe hips every time she lifted herself, almost unsheathing him completely before slowly sliding down again.
Almost feral and growling herself, she leaned down to run her teeth down his neck, humming her approval as he gasped beneath her. Until he could no longer hold himself from seeing her.
He sat up, weight supported on one arm as the other snaked around her back.
With her head thrown back, he dipped his tongue in the hollow of her throat and felt her sigh against him, his hand fisting in the fabric beneath his fingers. Her arms draped across his shoulders, her hands weaving in his fine hair, jasmine flowers blooming where she touched. She ducked her face into the crook of his neck and bit; he growled, his fingernails scoring her back.
She was slow, methodical - unhurried. Every touch, every slide of their skin against each other was a surrender. He kissed every inch of her that he could reach, flowers weaving their way up his arms and across his chest.
His breath shortened as she moved faster now, out of rhythm, overwhelmed, as she chanted his name against his lips.
"Jar-eth!" Her back arched as she gasped for air, close to breaking, and he pushed his magic out into her, his vessel, to return to the land, his offering, that he felt reverberate through her, though every creature in their kingdom.
And then the renewal, a return of his magic, stronger; a gift offered back to him, funneled through her yet again.
She gasped and shuddered, golden eyes opening to meet his, white and endless, all of time contained within, and she clawed at him blindly as she found her release.
He reversed their position again, moving her under him, moving within her deeper than he ever had, as her hands tightened in his hair, bringing his mouth to her, and with lips and tongue on honeyed skin, he joined her, a deep growl in his throat as her arms locked around his neck while he emptied within her again.
Thousands of years.
Thousands.
And he'd never felt anything so powerful in his existence.
She waited for him to calm, his breath coming in sharp, almost painful gasps. He felt the tremors of her body as she came down by degrees from her pleasure, and he found himself shuddering erratically as well. Her fingers drew ancient runes up and down his spine and across his shoulders. It was a long moment before the sound of his heart in his ears dissipated, and his heart slowed enough to move again.
He pulled back to place a moth-soft kiss to her lips with eyes wide open, searching hers for the answers that they would both have to address when the sun rose.
"Tomorrow," she whispered, fingers still trailing up and down his spine.
He nodded and lay down beside her. He tucked her into his side, as she draped her leg across his hip.
He released a huge exhale, finally content for the first time in weeks, and kissed her sweat soaked temple.
Perfection.
The last thing he remembered was being encased by flowers as sleep tempted him to unconsciousness.
When he opened his eyes at first light, he reached instinctively for Sarah. She was not there.
What?
Sitting up abruptly, he looked around at clearing -
He was buried in ash. Every bloom that had radiated light from her touch the night before had turned to dust and cinder.
There were no footprints in the sand.
And for the first time in his long, long existence, Jareth felt total and complete fear.
We also posted two chapters so that you don't hate us after that cliffie. We'll see you after the new year!