Chapter Thirty-Five: Summons From Oran.
Consciousness was usually something that was gained in degrees, slowly lifting up out of sleep and into the waking world. Sarah was beginning to resent the fact that her dreams were hurling her into abrupt wakefulness. One minute she had been wrapped around Jareth, ready to give in to the instincts that had ensured the survival of her species for countless centuries, and the next she was jerking out of a nest of blankets. The loss of that heady pressure, of that utterly delicious outlet for the burning urgency that she still felt, left her pained and wanting.
Fiercely.
For that one stolen moment in those mirrored tunnels, it didn't matter that she wasn't sure she could begin to trust Jareth or his very nature, it didn't matter that her little brother was slowly losing his mind and her life was quickly descending into the realm of chaos. The only thing that had mattered was the inviting male body pressing her against the wall, the acceptance of an invitation Jareth had been offering since the moment they had met, finally relenting to desire and knowing, beyond a doubt, that she was desired in return. For the first time in nineteen years the world had actually made sense. She was a woman, not a child or a hopeless dreamer, but a woman. One who had been rather enthusiastic about getting to know Jareth, who, despite everything else, was essentially a man.
Her body itched with restless torment, and she could feel his cool agitation in ever-rising waves. It was nice, though perhaps somewhat petty and sadistic, to know that she was not suffering alone. She had never felt so alive as she did now, but it was an acute torture, knowing exactly what would make her feel even more alive, bring her some relief, and yet not be able to put that knowledge to good use because the other party involved was painfully absent. "Oh, it's not fair!" Sarah wailed into her pillow, tossing from side to side in a fit of temper.
"You're damn right, it's not fair," Jareth's voice growled from above her. "We were just getting to the interesting part, and you have the audacity to wake up." Sarah rolled on to her back to get a good look at him. Jareth was standing next to the bed, leaning over her and looking strained. He appeared as he had in the dream, shirtless and wonderful, his skin nearly glowing a brilliant silver, while his hair fanned out in a chaotic fall of spun gold. His eyes were wild and hungry, devouring every inch of her that was not covered by a sheet; his very being was practically humming with energy.
She tried swallowing, even though her mouth had gone painfully dry. It was hard to imagine that he could be more devastating in real life but, compared to the untamed creature that was looming above her, the man she had seen in her dreams had been a muted shadow of the king who stood before her. "Trust me, I didn't do it on purpose," she replied thickly, trying to peel her eyes off his chest. She hadn't seen many naked torsos in her life, but she got the feeling that none could compare to the one before her: well defined and muscled, yet still impossibly lithe.
A teasing light entered Jareth's eye. "Oh you didn't, did you?" he mocked with a tilt of his head. "I'm afraid I just don't believe you, Sarah; you'll have to prove it to me," he carried on, kneeling on the bed and slowly climbing over her. It was an arrogant and completely unneeded challenge since she knew he could feel her desire through their connection.
But a challenge that she would take up, nonetheless.
Sarah looped her arms around his neck, forcing him down on top of her. Just as he had ruthlessly claimed her lips in the dream, now she claimed his; the first brush was gentle but the second was demanding, wordlessly showing him how he had reduced her to a boiling pot of desire. She nibbled and tugged at his lower lip until he opened his mouth to her, allowing her to explore those wicked teeth that she had only felt hints of before. His arms pulled tight around her waist and he managed to insinuate a leg between her thighs. Deliriously, Sarah wondered how the sheet between them was managing not to go up in flames.
"Ahem," someone cleared their throat loudly.
Jareth pulled his mouth from her, head flopping limply against her shoulder with a groan. "It truly isn't fair," he cursed in a strained whisper into her ear.
Sarah was doing quite a bit of cursing, herself. She had been more than ready to continue her unfinished business with the man above her but, once again, they had been caught; this time Jareth was completely out of disguise, looking more otherworldly than she had ever seen him, and she had absolutely no idea who they had been caught by. Jareth didn't seem to worry on that account, however; he merely settled on the bed, pulling her tight to his side and radiating interrupted desire as he faced their intruder.
It was a quiet looking man of approximately middle age. His chestnut locks were pulled back into a low ponytail at the base of his neck and delicately spiraled ram's horns framed the sides of his head. He stood with a somber elegance, not a single harried wrinkle in his dark uniform, and was looking anywhere but directly at them. Sarah's worry at having been found so intimately wrapped with Jareth nearly vanished at the realization that this man was not from her world; it didn't quite erase the mortification, though.
"This had better be important, Amyl," Jareth growled darkly, flashing the poor man an angry glare.
Amyl straightened, though it hadn't appeared as though had been anything but, and stated, "You have been summoned, milord-" Jareth began to curse, "by Oran." The curses turned into a growl. "Both of you," Amyl added.
Jareth snarled. Actually bared his teeth like a wild animal, and snarled; Sarah wasn't sure if she found it cute or terrifying. His arm tightened around her waist, positively squishing her into his side. "He has no right," the enraged king began, but was interrupted.
"He has every right, as well you know," the other replied smoothly. "And I would suggest the two of you hurry up, it's best not to keep him waiting." Amyl bowed lowly and vanished before the cursing could begin anew.
Silence stretched out for several uncomfortable minutes, each second filled with the awareness that Sarah was about as close to his naked chest as she could possibly be without becoming a part of him, and the vague understanding that he was very upset about something. "Jareth," she finally asked, "what's going on?"
"It would seem," he sighed heavily, "that my father is scheming, which is generally something to be avoided at all costs." His hand caressed the length of her ribs before he left the bed and began to pace the small room.
"I take it this scheme can't be avoided," she concluded, watching his growing irritation, the strides that resembled those of a caged tiger.
Jareth waved a hand dismissively. "Filial piety runs impossibly deep in my kind, Sarah. I cannot ignore a direct summon from my sire; we have no choice but to go." He paused in front of her, nimble fingers smoothing hair away from her face and tucking a few unruly locks behind her ears. "Be prepared for anything, Sarah. My kin are kind people by most measures, but they are not human; do not expect them to act as such."
His concern was touching, warming corners of her heart that she had thought his usually careless regard had permanently frozen. "Worried that I'm about to suffer from culture shock?" she teased, trying to lighten his mood a little.
Jareth's answering smile was full of sympathy. "You have no idea what you're about to be thrown into."
"I'm a big girl," Sarah replied, "I can take care of myself. I've survived you so far, haven't I?"
He laughed. "You're about to meet the man who shaped my very existence, if not my whole family, and the only care you seem to have is in cheering me up," he chuckled wonderingly. "You might worry more about yourself, sweetheart; neither of us know what my father is planning but, chances are, I shall fare it better than you, for I already know how Oran's mind works."
Well when he put it that way, she thought grumpily. She hadn't been the least bit worried until Jareth had made it clear that she should be. And now that the thought was in her head it refused to leave; what was this faceless father planning? How devious could he be that he had someone like Jareth nervous? There was no way to know without facing it. "So what do we do?"
"We don't keep him waiting," he replied, "my father has a tendency to get vindictive when he is irritated." Jareth took her hands and pulled her out of bed, a thoughtful look in his eyes. Seconds later, a burst of glitter heralded new attire.
Sarah looked down at herself and twirled in a small circle. It was the dress. Sheer silver sleeves disappeared under a bodice of black ribbons and silver edging, and emerald green silk skirts whispered down to the floor in elegant waves. The only difference from her dream was that this time she wearing a pair of soft satin slippers. Again, she was struck by how beautiful of a dress it was, but wearing it would merely cloud her mind with thoughts of what had almost happened in that hall of mirrors. She raised her head, ready to protest.
Jareth raised a brow. "No," he said immediately, with a firm shake of his head, "I find I rather enjoy seeing this gown on you." His own clothes were as stylish as ever, a mix of leather and linen that had her mouth watering. Jareth in leather should have been illegal, she thought absently while her eyes followed the clean lines of his dark jacket. A knowing smirk was the only answer her careful inspection received before he took her hand in his own.
The hall they appeared in could not be described by any word other than great. It could have easily fitted Sarah's entire home within its cavernous depths. Tapestries and banners hung from the stone walls and wooden rafters, waiving gently in the lazy breezes. Innumerable rush lights dotted the room, less than half of them lit to facilitate the daylight. Ahead of them a massive hearth rose against the far wall, large enough to engulf the man who stood before it.
"Father," Jareth greeted warily once they had drawn near, staying disconcertingly close to her side as though her feared her being snatched away.
The man before the hearth raised his head at their approach, and Sarah took the next few steps to study him. If Jareth was moonlight dressed in midnight clothing, then Oran was midnight dressed in moonlight clothing. His skin was a velveteen-blue, nearly the black of the most silent hour of the night, and shockingly offset by a cascade of hair that looked like pure quicksilver. Pale eyebrows rose elegantly above eyes that shimmered with amusement and seemed to shift from one color to another. He was as tall as Jareth, perhaps even taller by an inch or so, and possessed the same slender figure and features as his son. His clothes were delicate, flowing like liquid, and shone with a pale radiance.
No, Sarah thought in stunned silence, she would never mistake Jareth's family for being human.
"Boy," Oran finally returned Jareth's greeting, but quickly turned his iridescent eyes to her. "You must be the lovely Sarah," he said, taking a hand and laying a soft kiss against her knuckles. "Welcome, dear child."
Jareth seemed to relax and stiffen all at once. "You summoned for us?" he pressed, and Sarah could only assume that he was trying to get this business over with as soon as possible. Something about his father set him on edge.
Oran smiled mischievously, a brief hint of flashing fangs, before he answered his son, "It pleases me that you should both stay here while you undertake this…training."
It pleases me? Well know Sarah certainly knew whom the Goblin King had inherited his arrogance from.
Jareth became so tense she was afraid he would shatter. "Father-"
"No need to worry," Oran cheerfully overrode his protest, "everything has been arranged." His eyes continued to dance with amusement. "Amyl will show you to your chambers."
Jareth watched as his butler, who was rather inexplicably at his father's residence, led a dazed Sarah out of the great hall. Turning around, he regarded his sire, who was entirely too pleased with himself.
"Why are you doing this?" Jareth asked in frustration.
"Because I know you, boy. You have a tendency to turn small problems into disasters, without guidance," Oran replied. "Courtships are delicate and you allow her too many illusions about how your life is truly run."
It wasn't for lack of trying, he thought; it was just that every time they spent more than a few minutes together they usually ended up in an argument. Sarah's illusions were probably the only things that kept her from running at the sight of him.
Oran carried on, "But there can be no hiding here. She will see both the good and the bad. And she needs to, Jareth. That girl cannot agree to anything unless she understands who you are; she would resent you for it, should you trap her that way."
"She's already rejected me once, and our interactions are currently strained at best," Jareth groaned, "I fail to see how forcing us at each other's throats will help the situation."
His father glanced at him oddly, keeping a careful eye on his tight pacing. "You doubt your own charms," he said disbelievingly. "I taught you better than that, boy," Oran chided, "you must show her a side worth marrying, and she will drive any thoughts of other men from her mind herself. Teach the girl what it is to be loved and she will never wish to leave you." He sighed softly. "You can take this situation for a curse and be miserable for the duration of your stay, or you can take it for a blessing and use your time wisely. She will have no one to hide behind, Jareth; no one but you." And with that, Oran quietly left his son to whatever thoughts were taking shape.
The fact that Sarah's chamber adjoined his own was both a relief and a terrible temptation. To have her so close at hand for however long his father chose to keep them there was going to be nothing short of torture. With a sigh he entered her room, hoping he wasn't about to walk in on her mid-tantrum.
Sarah was sitting in a velvet-covered chair and gazing about the lavish room in complete awe. "I absolutely love it," she began.
"But?" Jareth asked, already knowing the answer.
"I can't stay here," she replied. Quickly she added, "It's not that I don't want to, it's just that my family will notice I'm missing and… oh god, Toby!"
He snapped to attention at that. While he had never been truly interested in keeping the boy, he did still harbor a fondness for the blonde child. "What about Toby?" he asked carefully.
She gazed at him for a few minutes, lower lip caught between her teeth, as if measuring how much she could tell him. "Something is wrong," she finally said. She told him then, just how wrong; nightmares and mood swings, behaviors Toby had never exhibited before. "I can't leave him alone; he needs me," she pleaded softly.
Jareth shook his head. "Oran may no longer be King, but his words still carry much weight; I cannot refuse my father, Sarah." She looked so pained by his words that he had to give her something to hope for. "But I will do my best to figure out what may be wrong," he said carefully. Sarah thanked him profusely as he left her room.
And if he felt anything akin to regret, well… it was an emotion that the Goblin King had learned to ignore years ago.
A/N: I had the strongest urge to title this chapter, "In Which the Author Needlessly Tortures Jareth, Again."
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Disclaimer: I do not own Jareth, Sarah, or Toby. Oran and Amyl are mine, as well as the rest of Jareth's family, who you have not yet met.