Author's Note: One Feather soon to come.

Persephone 37

In the Oubliette

She reigned herself in before her voice became completely raw. Screaming felt so much more comfortable. She forced herself to take deep breaths, rubbing her suddenly freezing extremities. She jogged lightly in place, ducking her head to avoid the ceiling. With chattering teeth, she tried not to hiccup, gasp, or cry out. Eventually, she worked the blood flow back into her calves. As her circulation returned to normal, Sarah felt her panic passing. Unfortunately, the dust that billowed up when she fell refused to settle. It invaded her lungs even when she breathed through her nose, further irritating her throat. Sarah fought hard against coughing, knowing that it would only make her feel worse, but kept losing the battle.

Although she couldn't see her own hand in front of her face, Sarah remembered her prior escape from the oubliette, for that was undoubtedly where she found herself now. She would have given anything to hear Hoggle's hooting laugh. The silence unnerved her. Instead, she crawled slowly hand over hand around on the floor, placing each palm down delicately. The floor felt smooth, though floury, to her dry hands. Nothing pricked her. Sarah found the walls much more quickly than she predicted, and surmised that this oubliette was only about half the size of the one in her memory. It was certainly dirtier, if that was possible, though Sarah barely noticed, and perhaps less used. She half expected to find a mangy, decaying body, or moldy bones. Instead, she merely squished a dead spider nest under her palms. She paused to wipe the cakey residue on her shirt hem. Cobwebs still clung to her eyelashes. She pushed the claustrophobia away and continued to search for any hint of an exit. Steadying herself for a moment, she decided not to worry about the spiders.

Hours or days later, she couldn't know, Sarah felt sure she'd touched every surface in the stony cavern at least twice and discovered nothing but solid crag. None of the stone moved. None of the grooves or bumps revealed a secret catch. There certainly was no door, nor a hidden board or broom closet on the floor. On the other hand, she probably shouldn't expect all oubliettes to have an escape anyway—especially not when the King seemed to have planned her first trip so thoroughly. There was no reason to expect him to find her, or even know where she was. Perhaps such abandonment wouldn't end so badly; perhaps she truly did prefer death to his penetrating hands, but she feared the torture of starvation. Her stomach growled. Sarah slid down the wall, sitting as softly as possible, but still sending up clouds of dust, and slipped her scrapped hand into her mouth in thought.

She didn't know how long she'd spent in the oubliette. Without any change in the perpetual darkness, she could have spent an hour, a week, or a year in the hole. Staring into the darkness, she didn't know when she slipped in and out of consciousness. Dreams haunted her consciousness just as consciousness haunted her nightmares. She tried not to think about the amount of air in the cavern, but blamed her faintness on dehydration and hunger. Soon, her stomach stopped rumbling, but her lips remained parched.

In this place, she could begin to forget herself. But then, she already had. She saw her old life as if through a mirrored fog. Even the time in the castle seemed distant, but high school with Brent and Madeleine, Toby, her family, her countless passions,…they all seemed worlds away. Toby's smile seemed like a hazy memory that she had to pull together in order to recollect—a lip here, a green eye, front teeth about to wiggle. How he must have grown! And if he remembered his sister, how he must miss her. She wondered how Nightengale's foal, Aspera, she recalled the name with a sigh, was growing. She'd forgotten to ask Hoggle so many questions. And she couldn't ask anyone about her home. More and more, her memory felt like a sieve, slowly succumbing to the powers of Lethe.

Would the king slowly forget her? She wished he would fade, but his electric presence continually pressed on her brain. His cruel eyes seemed burned into her own retinas, despite the blackness. Sarah pressed her fist over her mouth to stifle a cough or a sob, she could no longer tell.

A dim, fuzzy light behind her eyelids startled her out of a half sleep. "Hoggle?" she gasped as her eyes fluttered open. The orange beam burned her eyes.

"No." The sharp angles of his face contrasted with the darkness as he emerged in the candle light.

Sarah pressed herself against the wall, shocked by the glow flickering across his fine features. "No…" she stammered. "No, you can't…"

"Don't move," he commanded.

Sarah blinked furiously. Her eyes watered. He sounded strangely tired. She stood, brushing her head against the ceiling.

Jareth made a scolding noise with his tongue against the roof of his mouth, just like an irritated owl. "I am not going to come any closer, and you cannot escape anyway. Sit down." With a deft curl of his fingers, he lit another candle, setting it into a stone crevice.

The pain and spots in her vision were starting to fade. She noticed that he had spread the candles around the tiny oubliette. Stranger still, he sat in the far corner with his knees bent up, slouching against the wall, as lazily non-threatening as possible. Although the dust in the cavern didn't stick to his armored shoulder plates, they looked dingy, even tarnished. His face seemed even thinner than usual, haggard, instead of regal. His hair appeared unkempt instead of wild. She could see dark hollows under his eyes. They didn't suit him.

Sarah sunk into a crouch the floor, but kept her feet underneath her. "How did you find me?" she asked, trying to sound confident and unrifled.

Jareth lowered one boot and leaned on his opposite knee. "I lack the power to truly track you, but there are, after all, only so many oubliettes in the Labyrinth." In the gloom, he saw her eyes widen while her pupils shrunk to adjust to the dim illumination.

She pressed her lips together and a hand over her stomach. "And how long have I been here?"

He raised an eyebrow, but answered her question without pause. "About six days, I believe, perhaps seven, since I started seeking you."

She saw his hand move behind his back and flinched away. "A week?"

"Hungry?"

She nodded. "I still don't trust you."

Jareth tossed her a small, wrapped cheese-cloth sack. "As well you should not. Still, I wish to make amends."

Catching the bag, Sarah unwrapped bread, cheese, nuts, and a small flask. She smelled the bread and crumbled a piece between her fingers for closer inspection. The grains cast a tiny network of shadows on the stone wall behind her. "Thank you," she breathed out of sheer habit, while examining the food.

Jareth cleared his throat. "If I wanted to poison or drug you, you would never be able to tell. Either you trust my word, sworn on Lindel and my mother if it must be, or you go hungry."

"Is there a catch?" she asked, making sure to avoid amateur mistakes. "Do I owe you something, or have to trade you something for feeding me?"

"Not this time," Jareth chuckled deep in his throat. He raked a leather-clad hand through his lack-luster mane. "You should never bargain on an empty stomach. I would not impose such a penalty on my enemies."

She nodded and took a tentative bite of cheese. The flavor nearly burst in her mouth, awakening all her taste buds in a deluge of saliva, and bringing forth a tiny moan of pleasure. From his corner, the king merely sighed, pushing his head back to stare up at the ceiling. Two grateful swallows latter, Sarah tried to start questioning him again. "So to what…?"

"No," he parried. "Take your time, finish. Enjoy the light."

She didn't tell him how much the silence scared her. Instead, she devoured the cheese as hastily as possible, sipping at the sweet juice in the flask.

Jareth lowered his head, propping it on one hand. Casually, he stared at her, studying her appearance. Although she had still lost too much weight, she had regained some of her sheen while resting in Hermes' cabin. Her hair stuck out at jagged angles from a sloppy French braid, amusingly reminiscent of his own; though caked in dirt and skittish, she seemed relatively unharmed. Small scrapes and bruises covered her exposed calves and forearms, but the girl didn't look too worse for wear. Pressing his lips into a thin smile, he grunted in near-silent relief.

Sarah jumped like a startled animal. "What is it?" she exclaimed, "I thought you didn't want to talk."

The king shook his head without raising it. "And I do not. Finish eating."

With a painful swallow, she cleared her mouth. "I am. I want to know how…"

"Finish eating. And do not think to ration."

Sarah looked down at her bread, which she had meant to save. She folded the cheese cloth around it, raising her eyes to his. "I can't…"

Jareth held up a hand to silence her. "Finish. You will not starve now…," he stressed his final words, separating their syllables, "…now I know where you are."

Sarah bowed her head, judiciously pulling the bread apart with her fingers. Nibbling slowly, she savored each bite, watching his face. His eyes seemed to drift over her body, displeased even behind his mask, but never lingering long. Let him disapprove of me, she thought, and good riddance.

Their eyes locked. Her pupils swelled in anticipation. He glanced away first.

Sarah finished the bread and wiped her face with the clean cloth. Spider silk clung to the loose weave. Disgusted, she cast it away.

"Here," he said, suddenly closer and extending a hand.

With tentative haste, Sarah darted forward, dropped the wrapping in his palm, and retreated.

Jareth returned to his previous position in the corner of the oubliette anyway, chuckling darkly deep in his throat. "I believe they say 'Don't bite the hand that feeds you' in your world dearest little Sarah?"

"They also say that the stomach is the way to the heart," she crossed her arms, "I don't believe any of it."

The cloth vanished in a crystal. "And here, I always thought I would mourn the day you grew up," he quipped.

Sarah couldn't tell if he was playing or not. His tone slid between stealthy sarcasm and snobbery. "Never mind." She took another swig from the flask to stay her nerves, hoping he wouldn't catch the tremor in her hand. "You mentioned bargaining. Why are you here?"

"That much should be obvious."

"It never is."

"Bargaining little Sarah. Bargaining."

She shuddered at the death's head visage in the orange blaze. His eyes seemed to stare out of an illuminated skull. Sarah blinked to clear the monstrous image. Suddenly, the oubliette seemed much more dangerous. "Of course," she stammered, "But what do you want?" she asked, sure she knew the answer.

Jareth rolled his eyes, caught the distressed look on her face and shifted his position. A whiff of tension floated from her shoulders. The corners of his mouth lifted. "Silly girl, I want to whisk you home with me."

"I don't want to be whisked." She subconsciously collected herself into a crouch.

He saw her gather herself for escape, knew flight wasn't possible, and didn't bother to insinuate the chase. Jareth pressed his back into the wall, gritting his teeth. "I know. Sarah, I want to make amends."

Even though she contained her shock, believing him was another matter. A sour taste invaded her mouth. She forced herself to maintain an actresses' poker face, sure to impress even her mother. "That means you think you did something wrong. That's impossible."

Jareth shrugged, plucking a crystal from the air. "I have been…less than magnanimous…at times." The glass glowed crimson, increasing the red tint on their faces.

With a snort, her smile widened. "You're trying to trick me. I can tell. God, I've been here too long, I can tell!" She swiped at her eyes with one dirty hand.

He longed to reach for her wrist, to wash her hands, and pamper her swollen feet. Looking into the past, he thought of his mother's words about her strange love for his depraved father. Even covered in dirt, and justifiably angry, he wanted nothing more than to protect and comfort the girl in her terror, even caused by him. But he could not play both roles, play Janus. He wondered how to rebuild her trust, if he even could, and decided to come a little clean. Jareth sighed, deep and slow, catching her eye. "Well, I am."

Her face crumbled. Sarah rubbed her knuckles into her eyes. "And you want me to trust you?" she scoffed. "It's almost funny!"

Jareth lowered his gaze, looking forward through his bangs. "Tell me what I can do to persuade you to return with me," he pleaded, begging her to remain calm. "You cannot wish to stay here..."

"In the dark, with the dust and the spiders?" she turned her back on him, blinking furiously at the shadows he cast on the wall. He looked a mountain of spikes. Of harsh treatment and threats. Of promises. The candlelight flickered, threatening to fade. "Oh, I'd rather."

"Sarah…"

The way he said her name made her shiver. "Stop it," she snarled.

Grime drifted through the air, coating them both against their notice. The silence hung thick for a moment before Jareth caught sight of the tremble in her shoulders. The king longed to touch her, but knew she would never accept his affections as comfortingly meant. And he had promised them both that much.

"Sarah…" he tried again.

Her voice came out in a shallow, rasping whisper. "I know you would never rescind on our original deal, so there's no use trying. You won't give me back my freedom, let me go home, or see my family, not even for a moment. I never expected that. I never even meant to run away, but it happened, and I'm taking advantage… I know what I promised to do," she shook her head, as if to rid herself of a bothersome fly or disturbing thought, "and of course the terms weren't fair, or even justified, but I accepted that fate, even when the deal kept getting worse. Be your caged pet, be your…your wife. I did it for my brother. For my family. Still, stupidly, I thought I could believe some of your promises. I thought maybe you would be like I imagined you, dangerous, cold and enigmatic, but at least fair. A Machiavellian ruler at best. I even expected to have a little peace. "

"Dearest Sarah," he murmured, fueling his voice with all his frustrated desire to touch her, "of course you can. Let me try again."

"That's why I stopped asking you questions." Sarah rounded her shoulders, exhaling so hard her chest burned. She stared at the grime under her nails, wishing to burn it away. Her words flooded out in a breathy rush. "I didn't you think you'd hear, but I thought you might at least shut up. And all these epithets? Dearest? Darling? Beloved? It's ridiculous."

"I am listening now," he grated, harsher than he meant. Biting the inside corner of his lip, he held his tongue.

"Too little too late?" Afraid to look at him, she hiccupped into her hand, then cleared her throat. "You promised me everything I asked for and everything I could ever want. But I don't want jewels or royalty. Maybe once I did, but I've learned. And I always knew there was more to life and happiness than cold stones and finery. I certainly don't want you…" She paused, afraid to garner momentum again. She expected him to leap on her exposed neck, to bite and paralyze her. Her skin itched in anticipation of his attack.

He didn't. Instead, he made a small noise that encouraged her to continue.

"I don't want you," she repeated. "And when I ask….I had no friends. I had no freedom. I'm less then a pet, I'm a prisoner. I couldn't choose my own clothes or take time for myself. If I didn't want to eat much, you force fed me, and if I wanted food, it wasn't polite for a lady. You put me in danger, expecting me to appreciate your protection. You wouldn't leave me alone. You kissed me…and you touched me…no matter how much I didn't want you to…no matter how much I pleaded with you to stop. You want me to have your children, and meanwhile you can promise that you won't hurt me. I'm seventeen years old. I've barely been kissed. I've been wanting to grow up since…since I was here last, but not like this. Your affections scare me. How can that ever be compromised without the inevitable…? I miss school. I miss talking to people. I miss people my own age. I want to get a job, write books, act….I miss not being the stupidest person in the room, all the time. I miss having my questions answered. I miss not having a home," she paused, dropping her voice to a whisper and shaking her head violently. "I want to laugh again…You may be better than your brother, but that doesn't make you good. Can't you understand how much you frighten me? How much you have hurt me?"

"I am sorry Sarah." Even he didn't know if what he said was true anymore, but the words felt right on his tongue. He saw the tremor in her shoulders, the tremor of broken wings. She looked so small and lost. He hated the loss of her fire, and lowered his head to his hand. "For that, I am sorry."