Author's Note: Well, this is the second last chapter. And everyone who's ever read my stuff before (I always end up saying this) will know that I do not go quietly into that good night. Excuse the drama, but there must be a catalyst to draw the situation to its climax. I can only hope this fits.
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Jareth and Robert had joined their daughter when the show was over, amused at his delight over the new experience.
Lady Evelyse had nodded informally at them as they approached, bright-eyed with anticipation and excitement as her coming moment of glory.
Robert had raised an eyebrow as the conversation reached his ears, casting a dubious glance at Jareth.
"That was amazing," Sarah had said, "It looked so easy."
"It is very far from easy," Oric had laughed, "The trust between the actor and puppeteer is very rare. It takes intensive training to develop that ability to know the actor's limitations."
Sarah had shaken his head. "I want to know how those kids could do that. They didn't move a muscle without the right string being pulled. Every expression was perfect."
Robert had found a remarkable irony in those words.
Oric had caught Jareth's eye and beckoned him forward. "Hello, Jareth. Sarah has just reminded us of how enjoyable a quirop performance can be."
"No doubt," Jareth had said dryly.
"Oh, don't be so stern," Evelyse had teased. She had reached out and taken his arm, smiling up at him with a lick of her lips, "You like quirop too."
Jareth had, interestingly enough, politely withdrawn his arm from her grasp, looking backwards to his lover as though just possessed of a thought. "I do. Robert, did you know the singer?"
Robert had been as surprised as everyone else, but he had composed his features, merely shaking his head as though it was all a matter of course. "She was very good."
They had talked for a time, and Sarah had held his tongue, half-afraid that Jareth might curtail his freedom if he talked too much. He had found it disconcerting to watch Evelyse flirt so openly with Jareth while Robert stood right there. His earth sensibilities had rebelled against that. But then again, there had been a certain something going on with his parents. Sarah had made a note to find out later what that was.
Sarah had not expected to miss Evelyse's play. When the Lady took Jareth and Robert off to find good seats, Sarah had fully expected to follow on their trail sooner or later.
In all his life he had never seen such a diversity of culture. His imagination was firing with all this new information, filling out the dry facts that Jareth had crammed into his head before they had left the Goblin Kingdom.
He was beginning to see connections and similarities, to understand why one thing was done and not another.
It was all very well to know that a Peshawa had always to stand to the left hand of their owners, but it was another thing to perform that act and truly understand it. It made sense- taking the place of the supposedly weaker hand; becoming a part of the owner's body; publicizing one's place in someone else's life. He could look at his parents and know why Robert always took his place at Jareth's right, the Goblin King being left-handed. Could know it, understand it, and take satisfaction in conforming to it.
There were other delights, too. The ability to have a conversation and reveal nothing of himself. There was something delightful in such an exercise.
Sarah was certainly excited by this new life.
That was before Oric guided his steps to a private room away from the general population.
The Allorn Queen sank down on a couch with a sigh, one hand absently laid against her ribs as thought her clothes restricted breathing.
"Are you okay?" Sarah asked immediately.
Oric opened her eyes but didn't shift position. Sarah was still standing, she noted, very straight and correct. It was a very good sign. She didn't intend him to sit just yet. "Bring me a cushion," Oric said softly.
Growing more concerned, Sarah hastily picked a cushion off one of the armchairs and offered it to the Queen.
Oric took it but carefully set it to the side. "Pour me a glass of water from that sideboard, and then lock the door."
Sarah blinked in astonishment. "Is there something wrong?"
Oric frowned, but her voice remained even- "A glass of water, and lock the door."
Sarah hesitated, not liking the situation. The niggling worry of being alone in any room with another person besides his parents was growing larger. It was unthinkable, naturally, but Oric's insistence on locking the door was disconcerting.
What if Oric was ill? What if there was some danger?
Sarah had to consider all his options, even when none of them made sense.
Oric got to her feet, held her skirts with one hand and carefully walked around the young man. She locked the door and took the key from the lock.
Sarah was startled to see the key remove itself from her fingers and disappear A moment later he felt shock turn to fear. The shadows in the corner formed itself into a boto-neg, one with a drawn sword and a sewn mouth.
"I don't like to be kept waiting," Oric warned, "You will have to remember that."
Sarah opened his mouth but shut it again when he saw the look on Oric's face. The Allorn Queen was not joking, nor was she listening anymore. Her eyes were bright and the little red curls that had been left so artfully tumble around her face now looked wild and predatory. Sarah found he couldn't move. He couldn't think. His mind was blank. But far from any warmth, his blood was running cold through his veins.
"Doctor," Oric called without warning.
The bookcase opened to reveal a hidden door, through which a gaunt Allorn entered the room. He was followed by a boonan with two small grey case.
Sarah looked back at Oric.
"Undress," Oric told him.
Sarah wrists and fingers moved. He forced himself to stop, more from the sheer fright of what undressing would entail than from any more natural pride. He tried to protest, but the most he could manage was an inarticulate sound.
"Sarah, I will not brook disobedience. Undress."
The boto-neg was staring at him with hooded eyes, the sword still drawn and deadly. Was that a slight leer on that face?
"Must I have my guards cut those clothes from you?"
"No." Sarah put a hand to his mouth, goaded to awareness by the sound of his own voice. Hardening his resolve, he steadied his fingers enough to begin undressing.
He told himself to ignore the other people in the room, to concentrate on Oric and remember that he found her attractive. He couldn't feel more than revulsion at the moment, but sense dictated that she would do nothing to harm him. She couldn't. Sarah was Jareth's daughter and Oric wouldn't dare instigate a crisis.
He reasoned that perhaps this was normal. If Oric was like Jareth, then illnesses were dangerous. That would explain why the Queen was so tense; she was worried. Maybe Sarah had something- or Oric suspected she had something- that needed to be checked by a doctor. That could almost be a kindness, in its own way.
But why were his parents not here? Neither Robert nor Jareth had mentioned this to him. Why would Oric not tell them?
He removed his boots and put them carefully to the side.
"Fold your clothes," Oric interjected.
Sarah flinched but complied, folding the clothes he had removed so far before slowly moving his hands to his waist. There were only thee buttons. He shivered a little in the cold air and felt his skin break into goosebumps.
Oric nodded when he straightened up, her painted red nail tapping against her chin. She stared him up and down quite openly and began to smile. "My dear, you might be a very good bargain."
Sarah found his blood was too sluggish even to allow him to blush. Instead he turned his head and looked away, breaking with the protocol of his race.
Oric noticed but decided she would let it pass for this first time. It was galling to see a slave fight the reins, but there would be time later to commence training. One of her noblemen had an opi that could be borrowed or rented for the occasion.
"Doctor?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. On the couch, please, Highness," the doctor said.
A voice in Sarah's head laughed at such a title of respect in the middle of such degradation.
"Lie face down with the cushion under you. Yes, that way is good. Now, let me see."
The boonan appeared beside him, holding a strangely shaped wooden horseshoe. It held it out with a tentacle.
'Put that in your mouth. They don't want noises,' it said.
Too late, Sarah panicked, but panic only made him stiff and hyper-sensitive. He didn't take the mouthpiece, but stared at the boonan in terror and pleaded in his head for help.
'I can't help you. I am a slave too,' it said. And then it moved away.
Thoughts of plays and culture were forgotten. It wasn't a terrible pain, but the initial discomfort made his squirm and the humiliation itself was wounding enough. There was some pain later, when the device was widened, but Oric made the doctor stop.
"Let it be for now," Oric said, "I can see he hasn't done it before."
The metal thing was removed and Sarah relaxed his teeth on the cushion, colder now with the sweat on his body. From the little he could feel, the doctor was checking his spine, his shoulders and his hips, manipulating the joints a little to feel for their alignment.
"Good posture so far," the Allorn muttered, "Strong bone structure. No old breaks or injuries. The shoulders are not as wide as the average man. Let me see, now."
He was measuring him, Sarah realized, like he had once seen a goblin measure a table with a piece of string. Like the tailor has measured him to fit him.
The examination seemed to go on forever. The air never warmed and Sarah went limp with exhaustion. He let the doctor check his bones, his flexibility, the state and strength of his legs and feet. When the order came to turn over, he complied.
This time, when the boonan handed him the mouthpiece, he took it without a word and slid it between his jaws. He was thankful, this time. The thin glass rods were by far more painful than the metal thing. There were three. The thinnest was merely uncomfortable but the third one actually hurt enough to make him moan.
The doctor looked at Oric for directions but the woman only waved at him to proceed. The glass rod was forced to the end and then removed.
Sarah gave the mouthpiece back and resisted the urge to be sick. As before, the rest of the examination was not invasion. When that was finished, the doctor sat him up and checked his neck, his head, his eyes, his mouth, his ears and his scalp.
An hour was gone when the doctor sat back and reached for the final gray case. "Just some blood," he said soothingly, "And this will be over, Highness."
Sarah didn't even feel the needle enter his arm. He stared dully at the vial full of his blood that was taken from him, and then turned his gaze wordlessly to Oric when the doctor stood up.
"Stand up, dress, and sit down again," Oric ordered. This time there was no mistaking an order.
The boto-neg was still staring steadily at him, but Sarah no longer noticed. With each article of clothing, more of his mind was returning to him.
"A healthy specimen," the doctor was saying, "No structural flaws. Not as flexible as others of his kind but there are exercises. A few aesthetic negativities but the overall appearance was good. Still a virgin but quite easily stretched out. I would say training would be beneficial before putting him to service. It would be easy to damage him if he kept tensing as he does now. His organs feel in order, but without an internal exam I can't guarantee it. His blood sample should be clear, but I will let you have the result in two days.
The last words were punctuated by the snap of the locks on both gray cases.
Sarah sat down on the couch, sore and uncomfortable from the embarrassing insertions. He kept his gaze locked to the floor as his anger mounted.
The door opened and closed.
When Sarah ventured to look up again, it was because the rustle of silk warmed him that Oric was approaching. This time the room was bare of other people. Even the boto-neg had vanished again.
"You did very well, Sarah. I was very proud," Oric began, "Unfortunately, it seems your training is lacking. You don't obey orders, you expect me to repeat myself, you spoke when you were to be silent and you put teeth marks on my cushion."
"It hurt," Sarah said.
"I didn't say you could talk," Oric said gently, "Understand me, Sarah. Jareth may have announced you as his heir but you are a slave. It is in your blood. I have spoken to your father and he will give you to me for cultivation. I will further your education in what is seemly for you; in return I want your attention. You will learn to serve me, as you would your mate, and to help you I will employ an opi."
"An opi?"
"Silence. Yes, an opi. The lessons will be quicker that way. You and your body will be at my disposal. I will not demand more than you can give, but what I demand I will expect with brilliant results. Nod if you understand."
Sarah nodded once.
"Good." Oric smiled and leaned forward, patting his hand. The twinkle in her eyes was back making the whole thing seem a joke. "Don't tell Jareth, though. That is the last part of your test. I need you to trust me and do as I say. To be honest, I did not believe he would have given you a proper examination."
They left the room together and paused outside in the empty corridor. Oric went up on tiptoe to kiss him, one ladylike hand at the back of his head.
"We will have fun," she whispered, "You will learn everything you need to know."
Sarah smiled because it was expected, and Oric turned and walked away. Sarah had his orders; he was to go back to his room and bathe. Oric had arranged for a bath and fresh clothes to be ready in his rooms. If his parents noticed his absence at the end of the play, he was to cite sleep and time to himself as reasons for remaining in his room.
Sarah wondered idly how many other people knew. Clairen must guess, since he had to pay the doctor. There was no telling how many other boto-negs had been in that room. Or in the corridor, for that matter. Seen them go in; seen them come out.
By the time he reached his own floor, he was grateful for the comfort of a bath. By the time he reached his rooms, he truly did want some time to himself.
The magic and excitement was gone, evaporated on a selfish whim. Only it wasn't really, Sarah knew, that was the way the game was played.
Thank Helos, there was nobody in his room. Sarah had been half-afraid his parents would be there, somehow knowing he was upset. But his parents had no time for him now, too caught up with each other.
Sarah lifted his legs to get his stockings off and felt the slight frisson of discomfort. All of a sudden he was angry. More than angry he was furious! How dared the doctor have touched him!
He was the daughter of a King; a well-born lady no matter what he looked like at the moment. That doctor would have his hands broken if Jareth ever heard about it. If Jareth ever heard about it, that doctor would be lucky to survive.
Sarah pondered that as he let himself into his bathroom. He stared at the water, so still and calm, the surface so unblemished. Not steaming, but presumably warm because Oric had mentioned that word and Oric's words were not to be taken lightly.
Jareth wasn't likely to hear about it. At least, not from him.
Besides, Oric was really not so bad. Sarah had been perfectly happy to spend time with her before. He had kissed her and wanted to go further. He had dreamed of it, just the night before, and woken up long enough to take himself in hand to ease the ache.
The water was warm, and it rippled violently when he stepped into it.
He looked down and meditated on the shape of his toes through the prism of clear liquid- smaller, larger, not-quite-right. Quite apt, really. So different to the little girl who had dreamed of fairytales.
Well, Jareth had put paid to that early on, certainly.
Sarah could laugh about it now, even through the residual anger. Gone were all his pre-conceptions about fairies and goblins, kings and castles. Magic users had no use for humans and Sarah, as a human, would never be welcome in these worlds, Jareth's daughter or not.
The plays seemed rather a thin veneer of culture to the barbarity he had just experienced. People holding ideas and material goods higher than people.
Or was that really something he could fault them for? Humans did it too. Had done it, did excuse it, would probably do it again.
But there was a difference there. Sarah could sense it; but for the life of him, he couldn't explain.
He sat down and lay back.
Oric would take care of him the best she knew how. Sarah found himself inexplicably loyal to the woman. Not for anything else but that he felt he was tied to her already. It would only be a matter of time before Jareth completed all the official formalities and went back to the Underground with Robert. Sarah had thought of the future with some amount of eagerness, but now he wasn't so sure.
The loss of Jareth, as much as he hated to admit it, would be the loss of the only person he could trust to see him through this.
In the grand scheme of things, Sarah was aware that his problem was petty and insignificant. She knew Saxony was facing a potentially devastating drought. She knew the Vherders were facing stiff competition from smaller nations willing to supply cheaper goods in larger bulk. Jareth himself was… Sarah didn't like to say he knew, but Jareth was obviously on shaky ground in his own social strata. An athlete had let it slip to someone else without realizing who he was.
Some dimensions were on the brink of war; another was disappearing into an unknown mist that claimed life as indisputably as it claimed land. Others were oppressed and others were in the grip of dictatorships. Some were suffering natural disasters while others were dealing with revolutions and rapid change.
Sarah understood all that.
When it came down to it, his very human sensibilities were offended. He could accept he was a 'slave'. He could accept his own erotic reaction to an order or a need to submit, to supply pleasure in return for the heavenly feeling of euphoria that washed into his brain when he let it happen. He couldn't accept that he was to experience things that were unpleasant or painful simply because someone else decided his opinion wasn't worth noting.
It was less about Oric and more about his pride. Sarah's pride was wounded and he knew better than to let himself be placed in a situation where he would take his own freedom for granted.
Sarah was by no means unintelligent nor was he passive. Not truthfully, in the recesses of his heart, could he honestly say that he enjoyed being passive.
He settled further back into the water for some serious thinking.
