Sarah paced his room for what seemed like hours on end, wearing the souls of his boots away on the carpet as he strained his ears to pick up the slightest sound from the corridor outside.
Eventually he gathered his courage and left the room. He paused outside the door and shifted from foot to foot, uncertain of how he would phrase what he needed to say. The sound of a chair scraped across the floor snuck out in the gap left for the hinges and he winced, his nerves already on edge.
It made no difference, however, to stand outside the door. His only hope was to enter it. To go in and face them down. Be as honest as possible.
He raised his hand, he quaked, and he lowered it again.
The door swung open and Robert simply jerked his head to invite him in. "What's wrong?" he asked immediately, "Jareth said you looked worried. Has something happened?"
"Er…"
Jareth was sitting on the couch with his spectacles on his nose and his writing case open on his lap. He was in the process of finishing a letter. "Sit down, Sarah," he offered gently.
Sarah sat down with a thump. "How'd you know I was there?"
His parents exchanged glances.
Robert said, "You're upset, honey. Your magic is going a mile a minute. There's going to be someone up here in a second to find out what's going on."
"Oh," he said blankly, and stared at his hands.
Robert clicked his tongue. "It's not like luring. You can't see it. Those sensitive to magic can feel it, but it doesn't do very much, really. Just relax and take a deep breath. Do your eyes hurt?"
"A little."
"It's natural. The magic is trying to find anything to direct it and your eyes provide a temporary support. Close them if it helps."
From Oric's little doctor's appointment this surreal lesson on magic, Sarah was beginning to feel a little confused. But he shut his eyes and blindly followed on trust. After all, his parents were hardly going to stretch him out and insert…
"Jareth!"
The crystal deflected the curse before it really hit the tapestry.
Jareth's papers were on the ground and he sank back into his seat with a frown on his face and rueful glance at the debris at his feet.
"Sarah!" Robert sat down next to him, "Sarah, honey, you okay?"
"Ow," he moaned, "My eye."
"Let me see," Robert urged, "Come one, baby, open your eye. I can't see if you keep it shut. Let me see. Hmmm." He carefully pulled on both lids and did his inexpert best. "No, nothing damaged. I'll call a doctor and you can…"
Sarah snapped his eyes shut.
Jareth put a hand on Robert's arm. "Come away," he ordered, and sat down on the floor. "Alright, Sarah. When I tell you, I want you to turn your head and look at the cushion…"
Sarah yelped and clapped both hands over his ears for good measure. He continued to press and continued to moan, squirming as the high pitched shrieking in his head refused to leave.
"What the devil is going on here! Robert, get some cotton, and get a pillow." Jareth hauled his daughter to his feet by his arms, "Sarah, listen to me, don't open your eyes. Just follow me and put your feet where I tell you to put your feet."
Sarah nodded mutely and couldn't really hear more than one word out of ten. He attempted to navigate but there was so much stuff in the way. Papers underfoot and something long and thin that made Jareth sigh when he stepped on it. The cabinet caught the toe of his boot and the edge of table knocked his thigh.
Jareth tried to steer him right but Sarah kept swaying, tipping from side to side like a drunken goblin. He himself wasn't as tall or as strong as he would like for the job. But he managed when Robert came back and tumbled all items on the chair in favour of helping him first.
"Fresh air, Sarah," Jareth said tersely, "Breathe."
Sarah sucked in a lungful of air and choked.
"Another one," Jareth ordered.
He faired better this time.
"Good girl," Jareth whispered, "Keep going. Once more."
"Thanks."
"It's alright. Robert, did you get a pillow? Remove all the, er, fluffy things on the couch before I bring her back in," Jareth said delicately, not wanting to set Sarah off again.
Robert bit back a grin- even with the stress of worry- and went to get the 'fluffy things' out of sight. He very kindly collected them in an armful and tossed them through the bedroom door. He shut the door and went back to his little pile on the chair.
"Here," he said, "I thought one of these might help."
He handed over the slender case.
Jareth gleamed a smile at him and maneuvered to get Sarah propped against the windowsill. He fumbled with the case and eventually just stuck a cigarette in his mouth and lit it, drawing on it a few times to strengthen it properly, and then he turned back and offered it to Sarah.
"You know," Robert remarked, "On earth, sires don't go around giving their children drugs."
"Most sires don't have untrained peshawas in the grip of mental traumas," Jareth retorted, "Light another one, truina. My nerves are shattered."
"Don't drop her out the window, Jareth."
"I'll try. I can't guarantee it."
Sarah shook his head. "Nice to know you two can joke," he grumbled.
"How's your head?"
"This cigarette tastes vile," he said.
Jareth nodded and took his own cigarette with a prayer of thanks that Fate had sent some goblin the thought of soaking a herb in a mixture of raw spirits and leaving it to dry in the sun so he could wrap it in flammable leaves and burn it at one end. He also hoped that the root of all this drama didn't lie in a few particular paths he had no wish to see his daughter forced down.
"Sarah," he said gently, "When you come in, I want you to look down. Not up, not at anything, just down."
Sarah nodded and slowly, slowly, Jareth helped him draw his head in. He kept his eyes lowered and tried not to focus on the carpet. It was tempting, what with the particular weave of black and red, but he tried.
"Alright. Now, when you look up, I want you to fix your eyes on the pillow, yes?"
He nodded again and took a deep breath. He looked up.
The pillow looked normal. Very much like a pillow, in fact.
Robert sighed and gave it to him. "Hold it in your lap," he said, "If you feel your eyes burn again, look at the pillow. There's very little that can go wrong with a pillow. And if your ears start popping, stick some cotton in them. The pressure will help."
Sarah muttered a 'thanks' and sank back down on the couch. He hid his face in the pillow for a little while and then looked up boldly, more determined that ever to say what he had come to say.
"I know Oric's offered to train me," he said clearly, "But I don't want to stay here."
Jareth picked up his glasses from where he'd dropped them and glanced up from turning them over in his hands. "I thought you liked Oric," he said noncommittally.
"I do." No point telling them everything. "I simply feel that this won't be for the best."
Robert stayed very quiet, with his hands neatly folded in his lap and his eyes moving from Sarah to Jareth and back again. He gnawed on the inside of his lip and worried in silence. It wasn't unnatural for someone like Sarah to have directionless magic overflowing a few times but the triggers were rather disturbing.
"How is that? Has she done something?" Jareth asked, getting straight to the point.
"She's made it clear that she wants a slave," Sarah shrugged.
Robert started a little and Jareth shook his head at his lover.
"Shocking as that may be for you, Lannon, that is not quite a good reason for me to refuse her offer." Jareth sank down in his chair and stretched his long legs out, folding his arms across his chest. He seemed to be admiring the gold tassel on his boot. "If anything, it convinces me that this episode is overdue."
"Excuse me!"
"Why?"
Sarah half-expected to see the corners of that thin mouth curling up in that infuriating smirk, but Jareth was very serious, if apparently distracted by his boots and the strings of his jacket. His mouth was firm and very straight, not smiling at all. His fingers, for all their languid wandering, seemed to belong to a body that was tight with tension.
No, Sarah was quaking a lot more now. He had visions of war and shouting and sharp, pointy swords. And boto-negs, too, like the one who had quite calmly watched him being 'examined'. How many boto-negs knew about it now? The one he had seen had had his mouth sewn up but there were other ways, maybe, that boto-negs could communicate. He didn't know. He'd never heard of them before this.
"Jareth," Sarah said timidly, "You're not angry, are you?"
For some reason, the possibility terrified him.
Those mismatched eyes softened somewhat. But only a little, Robert noticed, since Jareth really was in a fair way to growing angry. Which Robert took to heart as a good thing, because Jareth wasn't stupid and if he was growing angry, then he was suspicious too.
"I won't be angry with you," he assured, "Unless there is something you've left out?"
"Erm…"
"The truth, please."
Sarah had been expecting it. He put his hand reluctantly in his pocket and drew out all the letters he had received. Best to get it over it and better that Jareth should know. All to late, he realized this wasn't about likes and dislikes. How would Jareth put it- there was more to running a kingdom than that? Yes, something like that.
Robert took them away and looked at them. He handed most over to Jareth, one he kept for himself to read.
The Goblin King opened one but only scanned it. Then he dropped them over the side of the arm of his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his face. "Tell me," he invited softly, "Why now? What has she done?"
Sarah looked at Robert. His Dad was furious. Robert wasn't going to be any help. But Oric had told him not to tell. Somehow he couldn't even form the words.
Jareth just waited patiently, narrowed eyes never leaving his face.
"I can't tell you," Sarah confessed finally.
"She told you not to tell."
"Yes."
"She gave you specific instruction not to tell," Jareth repeated, "Did she say whom you weren't to tell?"
Sarah felt miserable. "I wasn't to tell anybody. Especially not you or Dad."
"Let it be, Jareth, she's not going to be able to do it," Robert broke in. He folded the letter up and put it aside. He didn't throw it, but he did look as if it made him nauseous. "Why didn't you tell us earlier about the letters? I assume it's Oric, right?"
"Yeah. I didn't know, but yeah."
"The letters are unimportant. You were foolish enough to accept them," Jareth dismissed, "She can claim that defense. Was that all?"
"Oric is not… I don't know how to say it."
Jareth raised an eyebrow.
Sarah sighed and gave in. "I don't want to be a slave," Sarah said, "I know that I… need certain things, but… that's not what I want."
"You have separated your needs and wants, I see. What does that signify? Am I to bring this up if I have to attend a tribunal?"
"Tribunal?"
"Honey, sometimes, if rulers have an argument that isn't so difficult to figure out, the dimensions hold a tribunal to decide. It keeps the thing from getting too serious and usually it just requires a few people with common sense to soothe a few sore egos."
"Oh, a tribunal," Sarah mumbled. More and more he was beginning to wish none of this had ever happened. "
Once again, Jareth shook his head. "I don't care about the tribunal," he said, finally breaking position to sit up and lean forward, "I want to know why you don't want to stay with Oric. I want to know what she has done to you. I don't like half the story. You see? So it would be better if you told me."
"If she could, she'd tell you," Robert snapped, "Don't be ridiculous."
Sarah froze.
Jareth only nodded and shrugged. "Then I'm not satisfied and I don't see why I should take her point into consideration."
"Because she's asked?" Robert pressed, "How the devil can you put that aside?"
"If she won't tell me what it is, then I can only conclude that she had some petty argument with Oric and she's here in a fit of pique."
"What!"
Jareth held up a hand. "What else would Oric claim?" he pressed, "What else will she say?"
"Jareth, you know that's ridiculous."
"Of course it is. Unless it's true?"
"No," Sarah retorted, stung by the accusation, "It wasn't petty at all. God, if I could tell you what she did! You have no idea!"
"Sex?" Jareth asked.
Sarah couldn't say it was.
"Torture? Pain of some kind? Slavery of any kind?"
"Of a kind," Sarah said reluctantly.
Jareth put a hand to cover his eyes. He seemed to be thinking for a long while. When he lowered his hand it was with a frown. "I'll see what I can do," he said.
Sarah looked relieved and then fidgeted. "Actually, I have another idea," he said.
Robert caught Jareth's eye and spread his hands helplessly. He had no idea what was going on either. He was more interested in what had happened to his daughter but Sarah seemed be shifting topics so fast at the moment.
"I was thinking that Oric was sort of right, I do need training," Sarah continued, "Only I don't trust her to do it. She's all over the place. I figure that's not going to help me very much. Besides, I don't trust her at the moment."
Sarah thought he saw a flicker of something strange in Jareth's demeanor but it was gone as suddenly as it had arrived.
"She keeps shifting, as if she's not quite sure what she wants me to be, so she thinks I can be everything. I can't. I found it's not easy to be obedient and then think for myself too. I just can't. I guess with practice I could do it, but frankly, not with Oric. And what happens when she gets tired of me messing up? What if I do something wrong and she doesn't like? It's not even trust, it's just that I don't think she really gets it. The fact that it's one or the other."
"One or the other," Jareth repeated that contemplatively, "This is why you reject what she offers you?"
Sarah lifted his chin defiantly. "Yes."
"Go on."
Sarah told them his plan and Jareth expressed himself at length on the subject. He wasn't enamoured of it, but he was willing to discuss it. He had a few warnings about certain related aspects but eventually dismissed Sarah to change when the clock struck six.
"I'll see to this tonight," he said.
Robert waited until the door shut before expressing his own opinion. "I don't like it," he said bluntly.
Jareth looked tired, and very moody, lifting the broken pen from the carpet and examining the cracks in the polished body. "I can't say I entirely approve either," he agreed, "But she has her heart set on it."
"Sarah doesn't understand everything," Robert protested, "You can talk her out of it."
"And you?" Jareth put the pen down and rose to his feet, "You can talk too, truina. You could tell her what she's doing is dangerous. You can persuade her. She'll listen to you."
"Pardon?"
"I would treat her the same way I treat you, wouldn't I? The same way Oric treated her. Saxony isn't the person I would pick myself but he is consistent. He knows what he wants. I don't know, Robert. At the moment I feel very low."
He was out of the room before Robert could even drop his jaw in shock. Jareth had never spoken like that before. Never once, in all those years. He sounded positively heartsick at the very thought that he might have been so callous. And for what? Because Sarah said it had to be one or the other so Jareth believed her?
Robert sat there as the sun began to set and the light through the open windows crept over the ink-stained carpet to climb over the sill towards the night. He watched the door almost anxiously for what seemed the better part of forty minutes but was still startled when Jareth emerged, dressed for the evening and still hollow-eyed.
"Go change, truina," he said.
Robert's jaw finally got tired of hanging open. He shut it with a snap and rose quickly. He was almost at the door and Jareth made no move to explain himself. He was at the door, one hand on the wood and already half-planned what he would be wearing, when he stopped and thought better.
He turned then and cleared his throat as noisily as he could. "I don't understand," seemed to be what his tongue could manage.
Jareth was cleaning his nails and he didn't look up at this. His voice, however, was very cold. "I can't say I ever have either. Go change."
Robert hesitated. "If I say 'no'," he said clearly, "I'll be thinking for myself. If I do as you say, I'll be your slave. Which do you want at the moment?"
Jareth didn't look up again. "You will still be my slave. Either way you do as I tell you."
"But once you give me leave to think, you can't control my thoughts," Robert returned, "You won't know what I want to say to you. And you won't be able to stop me saying it."
This time Jareth did look up. He put down the thin metal pick and clasped his hands lightly behind his back. "I'm listening," he finally decided.
Robert took a deep breath. But when he opened his mouth nothing came out. He closed it again and just looked mutely at his lover. There was really nothing he could say. What could he say? Jareth hadn't been Oric, but he'd been something worse. Sarah had had a choice in the matter and she had chosen not to stay after only one incident. Robert had stayed there some decades, had put up with all of it, had been far more severely abused. What was he supposed to say after that? That it didn't matter? Of course it mattered!
"You have nothing to say," Jareth observed. He nodded and half-turned.
Robert grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him into the door frame, more frustrated than he had ever been in life.
Jareth almost fell over, he was so off-balance, but he was too surprised to say a word.
And then he was kissed. In such a way that he could have said nothing even if he'd wanted to. In sheer bewilderment, he kissed back, opened his mouth, offered his tongue.
It brought no clarity, but it was a damned good twenty minutes.
