Co-authored by QuaintLullabies and LadyOfTheCelticLand
"No, tell the Western League that their scouts need to be here to report by morning, Earnon. I do not care what they are doing: if they wait any longer, their information will be irrelevant. If they canno-"
Jareth stopped abruptly at the sight before him as Earnon opened the door of his private study with an automatic half-bow. Sarah was lounging in his chair, booted feet propped up on his desk, open book in her lap. She didn't even have the good grace to acknowledge him when he cleared his throat. She simply marked her page, closed the book…and looked to him as if he had invaded her private study.
"Earnon," he continued after a moment, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms over his chest. He kept his eyes on the human woman as he spoke. "See to it that the scouts are here by morning light. You can tell the League that the order comes directly from their High King. I will call for you when I am available this evening."
Earnon simply nodded and turned on his heel to leave without further protest. By this point, both the fae special advisor and his lover, Aine, had figured out that meetings like these between Jareth and Sarah had a finite number of possible outcomes. They seemed to have decided that they didn't want to present for any of them.
"Good morning, Precious. I didn't realize we were meeting. At least, nothing was placed on my itenary. Am I to assume this isn't official business?"
"What makes you think that?" Sarah asked with a grin that was more challenge than inquiry. "It might be."
"Well," he began, pushing himself away from the door frame with his shoulder, "if I were to walk into my private study, expecting it to be empty, and see someone not only present without invitation but also having perched their dirty boots upon my desk… well. I can be creative when I am so inclined. Hence my conclusion. Would you like me next to guess your reason for trespassing with such egregious audacity?"
Sarah simply did as she wanted in the castle these days. If he were to be honest with himself, it reassured Jareth to know that she was comfortable in their home. Something in her had changed. She'd lost something while she was held captive; something innocent that had once lived in her eyes had been replaced with hard cynicism. Soldiers might leave for war as brash children, but that child died on the battlefield even if the fae himself lived and returned. In some ways, the warfare Sarah had struggled through had been just as brutal and devastating as the wars his soldiers faced.
She now bore new scars of knowledge: what true cruelty was, the humiliation of unwelcome invasion, and the awareness that - though she lived - Jareth hadn't been able to protect her. Her blissful ignorance of certain cold, hard truths had shattered: sometimes, bad things - horrible things - happen, regardless of reasonable expectation, sense, or even purpose. Safety, protection … these were no longer indelible things. The childlike ability to expect that all wounds could be healed without a trace was gone.
Yes, her suffering had burned away the last of her delusions of moral simplicity like baby-fat over muscle. What had been exposed underneath was her soul, and it had been cracked. But with the Rebirthing the Warrior training complete, she had rebuilt herself. She had filled in the cracks of her spirit with gold to display her scars with pride, and had donned a suit of armor over her mind that would slice and crush any unwelcome invader.
She also seemed more connected to the Labyrinth and, by extension, her magic. She'd unwittingly protected herself against a Greater Fae in those last moments of her captivity; her magic instinctively had buried her deep within herself until it was safe enough to resurface. It was much more advanced magic than she ever could have learned by imitation.
Her magic had fully awakened, blossomed - and he could feel it. It called and sang to him like his brothers' never did.
Not that he was complaining. She'd left the history books and lore of the library behind like a serpent abandoning a confining skin. Her voracious mind was now focused on the Now, the lives and active days of the Labyrinth's inhabitants: the servers, the workers, the soldiers. More than once, he'd seen Sarah and Aine laughing through the hallways as they headed to some private location. She was learning how to be queen with eyes wide open. Pleased, he'd given her a wide berth, as sure as he could be that she was safe and able to defend herself long enough to call him to her were she in any danger.
She showed up in the most unlikely of places. Sometimes in the kitchens with the staff, discussing meals. Sometimes walking about in his mother's gardens, speaking to herself. Or, at least, it appeared she was speaking to herself.
He'd found her perched in a tree once. When he'd asked her about it, she'd simply told him that she was trying to see the Labyrinth from a different angle.
Unfortunately, she also now asked almost daily to venture outside the castle enclosures. She wanted to see the city, to go to the market. When he suggested that he would take her, along with protection, she wrinkled her nose and shook her head.
"Everyone is going to be nice to you just because you're their king. I want to see them, to see how they live. I want to walk among them and learn who they are when they aren't pandering to their monarch."
He'd told her no, in no uncertain terms. Without protection - protection that he was satisfied with - she wasn't going anywhere outside the castle grounds. Naturally, she was unsatisfied with that answer and had made her opinion on the matter quite clear, as she often did. He still didn't know where she went that day afterwards, but she hadn't surfaced again until dinner.
Most frequently, though, he found her in the observatory. The first time he found her there, she was lying on the floor looking up through the glass ceiling, hands tucked behind her head, humming softly to herself.
"Sarah," he'd laughed, looking down at her. "Whatever are you doing?"
"Watching the stars. They look very different today," she'd said with a smile.
The way she'd said it had him wondering if she now could move the stars as well, and asked her so.
"No," she said with a wistful sigh. "That is your bailiwick. It will never be mine. But I like to send them love."
"'Send them love'?" he repeated as he settled next to her and mirrored her position. He smiled when she shifted, her head settling on his chest.
"Yes. I love them and they love me. And I like to tell them."
He'd arched an eyebrow at her with a chuckle. "You've been spending too much time with Cailleach. She's corrupted you."
"You've corrupted me, Goblin King," she corrected, laughing. "Spending time with Healer Cailleach has shown me how to… I don't know… connect with the land more? I'm not explaining myself very well."
"I understand," he'd whispered, smiling down at her fondly.
He was reminded of this strange deepening of his human lover as he looked at her now. "Well? Am I to surmise that you've come here to plague me with more demands upon my person?"
"It is, actually, an official visit. Of sorts," she said with a laugh. "I know we're leaving for King Angus' lands soon, and I've decided to take you upon your offer and come with you."
"Oh?" Jareth blinked. "Oh. Well, that's excellent. I shall be glad of your presence. I've been dwelling on a reason for you to accompany me, should that be your choice."
"Do you need one?"
"An official one, yes," he drawled. "Other than "I'm here on holiday while my lover, the High King, interrogates his ally.'"
She huffed. "Don't play smug."
"Your presentation to Court, bestowing you with the political authority and power of 'princess' rather than 'candidate to the throne,' draws nigh. It is considered a great honor for the High Monarch to invite his vassals in person to attend and bear witness to the occasion."
"And so I'm going to be inviting him along with you?"
"Better. You need a teacher."
"I have a teacher," she replied, her eyebrows rising. "Several, in fact."
"Earnon can teach public etiquette and protocol. Aine can tell you what people will think based on your garments, and what it means to live here in the Underground. She has done that very well, in fact. However," he said, leaning over the front of the desk with his hands braced on either side of her legs, "do you really think either one of them knows what goes on behind closed doors? The Fae are a devious, crafty, and sometimes vicious people - the females even more so. The King may govern the blatant, but is the Queen who rules the subtle. The Ladies of the court are sharp-taloned harpies who stir a teacup to fashion a tempest. Ten promises may be cast with a flash of an eye and a nod. There will be alliances and bartering, outcasts, rising stars, and minor royalty - all hidden behind the floating of a feather and the glitter of masquerade galas."
He permitted his hand to reach out and trail his fingers along the leather of her booted calf, smirking when she jumped in her seat. "A fae woman," he continued, "ascending to Court would have a mother or aunt guide her into this savage world, where words are wielded like daggers and tea is poisoned with malicious intentions and laced with double meaning. Do you think that after millennia of living with these fae that I do not know their scheming ways? It was out of all of these sharp-beaked peacocks that I had chosen Lavena to act as High Co-regent. She is...headstrong, proud, and haughty, but her nobility is not confined to the blueness of her blood. At least, that is what I will expect, anyway," he added darkly. "Unless Marcas has embedded his claws in her as well."
His hand tightened on her ankle, then he straightened. "In the case where a mother or close female relative is absent, it is considered the height of honor to be asked to act as sponsor for a regent in training. Since Lavena's mother passed in childbirth, my own mother had sponsored and trained Lavena to be queen of Angus' lands before she….died. In the eyes of the Court, I have brought disgrace upon Lavena and his father by breaking our pact and rejecting her for you. Commissioning Lavena to be your sponsor would inform the Court that not only is she still highly favored in my eyes, but my faith in her ability to have been Queen remains unshaken by having her tutor you. This, at least is true. Even though I think you will make an even better Queen than she," he said fondly.
Sarah's mouth hung open. "And do you think she'll see it as an honor? This is asking her to make a huge sacrifice for me. We didn't exactly part on good terms -"
" - when you sent her to The Bog? No, sweetling. 'Parting on good terms' isn't exactly how I'd classify it, either."
"Details," she said with a wave of her hand and Jareth bit back a laugh. "I would be asking her to train me to live a life with you that I all but stole from her, and to do it well."
"I was never going to marry her, Sarah," he corrected, brows furrowed. "Just to aid me in the political office. She didn't even have feelings for me: just for the position. Elsewise, I'm not sure Angus and I would be on speaking terms. No man can easily dismiss seeing his daughter heartbroken."
"Even so. As you said, she's proud and we both humiliated her. She won't take kindly to being publically forced to serve me."
"No, she will not," he agreed. "But turning down this honor is an insult to me and the throne of equal degree. She will have no choice: it is an offer she cannot refuse."
Sarah chewed the inside of her cheek. Jareth pinned a look on her. "What?" he asked with a long sigh, knowing that look and that trouble that wasn't far behind it.
"Hear me out," she said, lowering her feet from his desk. She stood, the book on her lap forgotten and hitting the floor with a loud thump. Sarah crossed the desk and came up to him, her eyes pleading. For all that she complained about him not playing fair, she was far, far worse. She struck below the belt not only with swords but with those damned eyes.
He sighed.
"I am listening," he said with a roll of his eyes. "I am listening to this terrible idea to which I most likely am about to agree against my better judgment."
Sarah beamed up at him.
"I think I should ask her to sponsor me, privately and unofficially."
Jareth's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Oh, precious," he said. "Even I'm not that generous. You are asking for a genuine sponsorship, a pact made out of - what, fondness? Friendship? You'd have better luck getting tears from a stone."
"I think she would agree," Sarah said with a shrug. "I could be wrong, but my gut says I'm not. And I'd like to offer her a boon of her choosing in compensation for choosing to work with me."
"No, Sarah. I know you prefer to have a measure of influence in these matters, and that I vowed to desist in making unilateral decisions on your behalf where possible, but -"
"Regardless," Sarah said, ignoring his comment. "She will need to agree to this genuinely and without resentment. I will not accept her help while she is under duress or threatened with punishment for refusing. It is her decision and I will speak to her in private and ask myself. That is the only fair way, and it will keep her from further turning against us. It's not just this meeting, Jareth. She's going to be around for the rest of my reign. If she's as noble as you say she is, I'm going to want her on my side. This is the best way to regain her loyalty to you and to begin an alliance with me."
Jareth sighed. To be High King or Queen was to have power automatically; humbling oneself to curry favor could be just as detrimental as taking that power for granted. Still, he had meant what he said: Lavena had a firmer set of ethics and morality than most Fae. Perhaps she would see Sarah's gesture as the offer of peace that it was rather than sniveling cowardice. If not, he could always have words with her himself.
"Fine. I'll agree on one condition." Sarah eyed him warily. "Only one condition, Sarah," he repeated, "and if you agree, I will send word only of your attendance to Angus in the morning."
She looked up at him, skeptical. "I'm going to hate this, aren't I?"
"Not at all. In fact, it will be doing something you enjoy."
"Does this involve me getting naked?" she asked dryly.
"If you wish," he said with a tilt of his head, as if he were picturing exactly that. "Though being nude for this activity would be impractical. However, please believe me: I'll never complain about you being sweaty and naked and out of breath," he added cheekily.
She gave his hands a little squeeze as she rose from the chair. "You can't blame me for thinking all your motivations involve you stripping me naked and… well, you know," she said shyly.
His eyebrows lifted. "Oh dear, Sarah," he crooned in mock sympathy. "Do you really believe I would have to remove your clothing?" His eyes twinkled as he watched the blush crawl up her neck to her cheeks. It amused him that she was still shy when talking about their bedroom activities despite her enthusiastic participation during them.
He leaned down low to whisper in her ear, a smile curving his lips. "Precious thing," he purred, his breath drifting over her skin, "I could make you come without ever laying a finger on you."
He pulled back and was met with a raised eyebrow and a look of incredulity. He tilted his head and watched her for a moment. "You doubt me?"
"Jareth," she began, pinning a look on him, hands on her hips, "I will freely admit that I have zero experience with sex aside from you. I also accept that you've done… well, I'm sure there are things I can't even imagine."
"There are. I am eager to educate you," he interjected, clasping his hands behind his back.
She paused. "Oooook," she murmured, giving her head a vigorous shake as though to organize all her thoughts into cohesiveness. He waited patiently for her to return from whatever field-trip her mind had taken. The look on his face he was aiming for was innocence, but he suspected he'd gotten nowhere close.
Sarah cleared her throat. "As I was saying… you're damn good, but no one is that good."
Now that was throwing down the gauntlet.
"Care to make a wager, then, your highness?" he asked, already anticipating her agreement. She never backed down from a challenge, and, sometimes, he imagined he knew her better than she knew herself.
However, Sarah regarded him warily, apparently weighing her options. "I know better than to give you carte blanche, Jareth. What are the conditions and what are the prizes?"
"You're learning. Very good," he allowed, eyeing her up and down as if he were going to devour her. He just might. He walked her back against his desk, leaning over her, his hands braced on either side of her hips. He knew the smile that formed on his lips could only be described as predatory.
"Do you remember, Sarah, dearest, when you were… oh, eighteen or so, and your dreams… well, they became much more interesting. A little… more sophisticated? I seem to recall that you weren't able to move very much. Not that you were complaining."
Sarah's eyes widened as realization dawned on her face. "Oh gods. You were there," she breathed. "I thought you might be. I'd wondered..."
"'Wondered?' There was no 'wondering' about it. A not-insignificant part of you hoped that I might be listening, lured by the scent of your dreams like a child to a pie in an open window. You tasted my presence in each of those dreams, and you chose to go ahead anyway, knowing that I was there. We both know it would be a false pretense to claim otherwise. I could taste your dreams, as you can taste mine. Oh yes, Sarah-mine. There's a word for knowing that someone is watching you and deliberately getting yourself off on it: exhibitionism. And what a brilliant, insatiable, inventive little show-off you were."
Sarah swallowed hard, a wave of fear rising in her gorge. "Did you ever...manipulate my dreams? Send me dreams of you?" she said very quietly, her voice rigid with controlled modulation. "How much of me did you see?"
His eyes widened and he shook his head vehemently. "I made sure you knew beyond the shadow of a doubt when I sent dreams to you. As for our shared dreams...I watched only when you summoned me. I participated when you only ordered. I left when you wanted rid of me to be alone...or you had your fill of me," he added with a quirk of his lips. "The ethics of dreamwalking are….nebulous by definition, and I admit to being enough of a cad that I didn't announce myself unequivocally in our shared dreams. A gentleman encountering a beautiful woman blatantly pleasuring herself to thoughts of him on the sun-soaked balcony beneath his window might turn away, or perhaps call down to her to make her aware of his presence. That, however, would ruin the game. That you felt me, but chose never to look closely enough to quite confirm my presence, was consent enough for me. Never, Sarah," he whispered. "I would never violate your trust. When you accidentally summoned me and I could tell you wanted privacy, I turned and left. I respect your brilliant mind far too much to treat it as my playground. I swear it."
"I summoned you?" Sarah repeated, stunned. "How did I do that?"
"Forcibly, and frequently. Every time you screamed my name in a fit of ecstasy, I was yanked from my own sleep and deposited as an audience member for your audacious demands. Oh, but sometimes you were not content with merely being watched, were you?" He traced his knuckle down the side of her face. "Sometimes...you wanted more. And, as I always do, I obeyed your command. Every bite, every breath...Every time my tongue freely explored your trembling body...Every time you screamed for me to keep going, go faster… harder. I know every single filthy, depraved thing you desire of me. I supplied it willingly - and will do so again."
Sarah could do nothing but stare at him, wide eyed and flushed.
Speechless. What a lovely novelty.
"Here are my conditions. When, not 'if,' I… how would one be delicate? Hmm. Let us say … bring you to release, without removing an article of your clothing, without even touching you - I will have carte blanche to reenact one of those dreams in the flesh, so to speak."
He grinned, knowing he'd dropped a bombshell on her. "Sincerely, there is nothing quite like the sound of my name on your tongue while you beg." He tilted his head, watching her. "And there will be begging. I swear on every living thing in this kingdom that I will reenact that dream to most minute detail and heartbeat."
The sheer mortification and intrigue that colored in her eyes was almost too much, but he kept the laugh bubbling up tucked behind his teeth. He noticed her lips part and her tounge trace her bottom lip. Heard the sharp intake of breath when his thumb took the same path. "Of course, seeing that it was a dream, you should expect a more… intense engagement under my palm in reality. Those dreams, those wonderful little fantasies that made you reach beneath you blankets and bring yourself pleasure, are only a small taste of what I'll do."
Sarah swallowed hard, as Jareth's eyes raked over her. "Really, Sarah," he breathed against her mouth. "I have seen a great many dreams in my lifetime - billions - and never have I been so eager to make them reality. My dreamer," he said sweetly, tilting her head back, nuzzling her neck; Sarah's eyes fluttered closed.
"My Champion," he whispered, shifting so that the weight of his body kept her in place with his hips. His hands cupped her face, tilting her head to the side so that he could that he could run his tongue up the column of her neck, teeth scraping against her jaw. Sarah stuttered in a breath as he inhaled her scent. "My sweet, obedient, submissive, precious thing…" He pulled back just enough for his lips to ghost over hers.
"What do I—" Sarah had to clear her throat, voice lost for a moment as she opened her eyes to look at him. His eyes were black with only the barest hint of blue, and he knew she was seconds away from losing her composure. He could play her body like a finely tuned instrument, his senses finely honed to her reactions. He was well aware what his presence, especially in such close proximity, could do to her.
"What do I get if I win?" she managed to barely get out on a whisper.
"Do you really believe you will?" he asked rhetorically. "If you win - and that is a near impossible 'if,' you understand - your request to leave the castle and wander around the city will be granted. I shall be your escort, however," he placed a finger over her mouth to stop her protests before they even began. "I will disguise myself so that 'everyone won't just be nice to me because I'm king,'" he said, mocking her as he raised an eyebrow. "That should alleviate your concerns."
He watched as Sarah chewed the inside of her cheek, considering his proposition.
"Are these terms agreeable?" he prompted after a moment. After another beat, Sarah nodded, uncertainty still written on her face; he tsk'd, dropping a small kiss to eager lips. "Now, now sweet," he chided with a purr. "You must use your right words to seal our deal."
Sarah gave herself another moment to consider the terms, hesitant.
"Sa-rah," he whispered, drawing her name into a sensuous drawl. "You really stand to lose nothing saying yes to me. If you win, you get what you want. And if I win… well," he chuckled darkly. "You still get what you want."
"But those dreams…They were so…"
"Delicious? Pleasureable?" he finished for her, his lips ghosting over hers again. "Sinful?" he breathed, ducking his head to that sensitive spot below her ear.
"Rough," Sarah answered finally, though Jareth knew she would be hard-pressed to deny they were all of the adjectives he used as well.
"Ah," he answered, pulling back, eyes searching hers as his mouth quirked up in a knowing smile. "Does that frighten you?" he asked curiously, eyes twinkling.
Sarah, ever the heroine, ever his Champion, looked him in the eyes, determined. "No," she answered without hesitation.
The smile that crawled across Jareth's mouth was practically gleeful in response to her answer - and it would have been terrifying to anyone but her. "Liar," he whispered. "It should frighten you," he breathed.
Sarah drew in a ragged breath as she caught the dangerous glint in Jareth's eyes, and looked as if she was ready to call the whole thing off. Jareth leaned in so close to her that she saw his reflection in her wide eyes. If there was a millimeter or a mile between them, it was too far.
"That doesn't mean you won't enjoy it, precious thing." The brush of his lips against hers was soft, teasing - a perfect counterbalance to what he was promising.
He could watch her warring with herself. Watch the emotions play across her face. He could name them one-by-one; Jareth's memory was very good. And when it came to his Sarah, it was perfect.
First, the stubborn determination: she'd push away her nevers and assess the situation logically.
Secondly, suspicion. She was weighing her options. They both knew there was no way she was going to win this bet, but she wouldn't back down. Truely, aside from himself, he didn't know of a single creature as stubborn as she.
Then would come the expression of resigned curiosity, the "what's the worst that could happen?" look, followed by -
"Yes. Fine," she said finally. "I agree to the aforementioned terms."
His lips quirked up.
"Kiss on it?" he asked playfully, but waited for neither a response nor invitation. He moved his lips slowly over hers, savoring the taste of her mouth. Only when he was ready did he run his tongue across her bottom lip, a request for her to open her mouth to him. He tasted her, tongue teasing against tongue, until she moaned softly against his mouth. He nipped her bottom lip and pulled his body away completely, pushing up of the desk, and by the time she opened her eyes, he was adjusting his gloves.
It took a moment for her to find her voice again.
"I… uh, didn't… you know," Sarah stuttered, trying to focus her thoughts. "So…"
Jareth grinned at her, shaking his head. "You still take so much for granted, lovely," he said laughing. "I never said I would do it now. Not when you are expecting it. It will be at a time of my choosing. It looks like youhave some studying to do," he said motioning to the book that lay closed and waiting on the floor. "And I would hate to distract you from that."
He winked - actually winked - at her. "Besides. With you in this state? It would be entirely too easy."
He paused, taking in the shocked expression on her face. "Your sparring lessons. That was the initial compromise. I will send a courier requesting Angus and Lavena to receive us, if you resume your sparring lessons with me."
He shrugged. "I assume I'll see you this evening," he said, spinning on his heels, leaving Sarah to gape at his back.
Dinner had begun normally; Sarah was wondering how, exactly, Jareth was going to torture her later, when a chill ran through her from top to bottom. It was as if someone had poured icy water over her head.
She looked to Jareth, who immediately stood. He excused himself and left. Had he felt the same thing?
She half-expected Jareth to not be there for her sparring session afterwards. It wouldn't be the first time that he had failed to keep an appointment; the first time, after the initial sting of indignation, Sarah realized that Jareth would only cut time with her if there were an emergency. She'd managed to temper her irritation, and remember that he was, despite how he behaved with her, a king. Kings had kingdoms to run. And when she was queen, she would encounter those kind of situations, as well.
Bearing all this in mind, she was pleasantly surprised when she found Jareth in the room.
It took her a moment to realize what she was seeing. He was in full Goblin King regalia; currently, he was removing his cloak and laying it across the bench. The look on his face was solemn.
She paused a moment and studied him. When she was fifteen, he was terrifying when he appeared in her parents' bedroom. He was imposing and threatening and mysterious… not so different from now, except he elicited a different reaction from her.
She could make out glaring differences between the Jareth she saw before dinner and the King she saw now. In the past, she had taken to referring to him as "regular Jareth" and "King Jareth" in her head. She could separate and compartmentalize the personality changes, the sound of his voice, even, physically, the way he carried himself. She had found that was very important to be able to tell the difference because her behavior was predicated on it.
This was something entirely different than either one of those personas. She was actually reluctant to approach him. While she knew he would never deliberately hurt her - knew it with absolute certainty - the fifteen-year-old in her mind screamed danger. "We can do this later, if you want," she said softly as she approached him.
He removed his gloves. "Why would we need to reschedule our lesson?" he asked, and Sarah narrowed her eyes. His voice was cold. Detached.
She knew, immediately, that she wasn't fond of it.
"You obviously have a runner. That is more important than this; it can wait," she said.
"I have stressed, Sarah, the importance of your training and you ability to defend yourself. It is not something you can just wave off because my attention isn't focused entirely on you this evening."
She blanched when he eyes met hers; if his voice was cold, his eyes were ice. She tried to repress the shiver that ran down her spine. Now she realized that it wasn't just the way he was behaving, or the way he was looking at her. It was his magic. She could feel it, knew it, could feel it ghosting over her, but it was odd. Glacial. Unwelcoming.
Distant.
"That wasn't what I was suggesting," she said, treading carefully. "I was simply saying that if you needed to focus all of your attention on your runner, then I understand." She watched as he conjured a crystal and, after a moment, lowered his palm. It was in stasis, hanging in the air as if held by some invisible string. In it, she could see the runner. Sarah wasn't close to the orb enough to make out the details, but she knew in her gut where the girl was: she'd just entered the labyrinth proper, and was trying to find her way to the center.
"Our runner, Sarah. It would be beneficial for you to start thinking in terms of our equal responsibilities. Let us begin," he said with a finality that suggested command, rather than request.
"You, know… I don't think so. We can do this another time when you're in a better mood. I'm not fond of the way you're speaking to me," she said, turning on her heels to leave.
She blinked and he was in front of her; she jumped backward so suddenly that she tripped over her own feet and fell. She'd never, in all the time she'd known him, saw him move so fast. She knew what he was doing, moving forward in Time, but it startled her so much that her heart about stopped.
"Sarah," he said softly as she scrambled to her feet. "I believe we have an appointment and I have said we are to begin. Do you need further instruction? Or do you understand? I am short on patience this evening and it would behoove us both for you to obey."
Her eyes narrowed at him.
"If you're going to behave like this all evening, I'd rather not be around you. Especially swinging pointy things at each other. You're being cold, and detached, and damn scary and I think this is a terrible idea at the moment. I won't lift a weapon to you tonight, Goblin King. It is unwise for us both."
He seemed to consider her her for a moment, before brushing past her, gathering his cloak and gloves, and crystal. "Perhaps you are correct."
"You could let me know what's going on, though," she said to him, and watched his shoulders stiffen.
"That is… unwise for us both," he said, echoing her own words against her.
"Why?" she asked. "This will involve me at some point, won't it? My entire life since returning Underground has been trial by fire. Why should this be any different?"
He turned to look at her appraisingly, as if weighing the pros and cons of bringing her along. Sarah fought against her body's instinct to flee when he crossed the distance back to her. He was frightening; she was unsure of what he would do next, but she planted her feet and waited.
"I need you to listen to me very, very carefully, Sarah. Do not speak and do not interrupt me, because what I am going to say is beyond important."
His finger under her chin lifted her eyes to meet his. "This is not up for debate. It is not up for discussion. You will listen, or the consequences will be grave. And they will not come from me. You may not interfere. You may not help her in any way. You are not to try and guide her. You are not to speak to her without my direct permission. You will be at my side and you will listen, observe, and you will not interject. This is magic as old as the Underground itself, and there are rituals that must be performed."
Sarah sucked in a ragged breath. She'd never seen him like this, but she now recognized his stiffness for what it was. This was an obligation that he was duty-bound to fulfill, whether or not he liked it. She understood, in that exact moment, what the toll of being the Goblin King took on him. When he was Dreamwalking, he was master of his own craft. He called all the shots and did only what it pleased him to do. In accepting the role of High King of the Labyrinth, he had forfeited his own freedom to dismiss a Wisher's words. He had his role to play as much as the Wisher-turned-Runner did. Mercy was simply not an option for either.
Not fair, indeed. This was a new basis for comparison.
"Do you understand me, Sarah?" She swallowed and nodded her head. "And you're absolutely certain that you can follow those rules?" His voice was still flat, but he was nevertheless giving her an opportunity to change her mind.
"Yes, Jareth," she whispered hoarsely.
"Not Jareth. Not tonight. Do you understand?"
"I understand, Goblin King."
He nodded. While his eyes were still locked on hers, she felt his magic shifting around her as her clothing changed on her body. Her waist-cincher became armor, her tunic a sweeping gown of black velvet, and her vest a cape. Its stiff collar stood firm beneath the mass of her hair. Then even her hair moved, writhing out of its ponytail into a tight braid beneath the sudden weight of her circlet upon her head.
Changes completed, Jareth redonned his cape and gloves. This close to him, she could make out little differences that she'd not noticed before. His eyes were more starkly different in color than usual, one paler, one darker. His armor had subtle etchings in it, a light sheen of stumbling light when he turned: they were runes and symbols to enhance intimidation, power, protection, and awareness.
At his neck hung his pendant. He never took it off, though it was most often tucked behind his clothing. She could actually feel it calling out to her, and barely stopped herself from reaching out to touch it, pulling her hand back at the last minute.
"You have your own," he murmured, brushing past her. It was the first thing he'd said to her that evening that wasn't stony or asture. In fact, that tone was something completely different.
That tone wasn't cold at all.
She lifted her hand to her neck and felt the matching pendant through her gloves. It was smaller, daintier, but no less powerful. When she touched it, it was like an electric shock to her veins. "That's… that's actually the Labyrinth. Not Aimsir, but the entity that he commands," she said, shocked.
"Yes," he replied, reaching out for her hand. "Come. We have much to attend to this evening."
Sarah placed her fingers into his palm and they were gone.
Sarah had only been moved forward with Jareth a handful of times; it wasn't getting any easier the more she did it. The nausea didn't pass for long moments, and Sarah closed her eyes against the spinning room. If she had to put it into words, the transition was less refined this time - rougher somehow. More like being thrown forward.
When she finally lifted her head, breathing deeply, she realized she was in his throne room; the second thing she noticed was Jareth lounging in his throne, fixated on one crystal floating in front of him, another rolling absently across his free hand.
The third thing she noticed was next to him.
Her mouth went dry.
There was a second throne, now, next to his. His throne was a savage crescent curl of gleaming pale ivory, heavy purple silk hanging from it in loops like bat wings and puddling on the floor. The one beside him was of black metal shaped into a giant crouching bird, woven in Celtic knotwork, and it clutched a triskele in its talons that formed the back of the throne. Studying the sharp beak, she realized it was some kind of bird of prey - a raven, perhaps, or a crow?
Each spiral of the triskele ended in a sapphire, topaz, and amethyst; the bird's eyes were set with emeralds that glinted in the ominous evening light, almost seeming to move. Ribbons of brocade twisted in loops from the arms and seat of the throne - flairs of sunset red and orange, liquid blue-green, and silver-shot midnight indigo. Beneath the stylized, smaller set of outstretched wings that served as armrests, the fabric ends fluttered in the windless air like ripples in a current.
When she was finally able to pull her eyes away, the Goblin King was watching her. "It's beautiful," she said finally. He didn't respond. "Thank you."
She approached him slowly, a little unnerved at how still he was being.
"Champion," he intoned. His voice had returned to the stark, monotone, steely sound. It slid its way through her blood, across her brain, and roiled in her stomach.
There was something different about him - different, even, than when they'd been in the sparring room moments ago. His eyes slid over her, but she found no warmth there. "Come. Observe," he said, and she did as she was told. It was the first time since she was a child that she'd been truly terrified of him. This was not the same fae who stroked her hair while she fell asleep tucked into his side, nor was it the stately fae king of commanding presence and steady gaze.
This was the Goblin King, the eldritch demon who stole babes and offered poisoned games. This was the face in the night that mothers feared and made children tremble. Some of the legends might have been twisted a little, but the cold, hard truth was just as terrifying.
She couldn't see any of her lover in his cruel gaze.
The weight of her cape felt heavy on her shoulders and whispered across the floor when she mounted the dias. "May I sit with you?" she asked, relieved when he shifted to one side of his throne and made room for her. She gathered her skirts and sat beside him. She tried again to read his expression, but he was now studying the crystal.
"She has nearly lost," he said. Though his voice so flat he might have been reading a tax report, the cords in his neck were rigid and his jaw was tight. "Can you feel it?"
Inside the crystal, the woman - no petulant child, this - stumbled forward. Sarah knew that the Labyrinth reshaped itself for each runner, but this was the first time she'd seen it happen. The woman was surrounded by clouds of fog, and she kept suddenly shying away from them as though something in their midst had spooked her. Her eyes were wild and full of terror, her worn and dirty clothes singed and sodden.
"I can see, but I can't feel it, no," Sarah whispered. The woman fell to her knees and clearly wailed up at the sky - and suddenly, Sarah regretted agreeing to Jareth's stipulations.
He suddenly touched his thumb to her forehead, and Sarah gasped as thoughts, images, and emotions assailed her.
She had barely made it into the Labyrinth and was already giving up. She was so frightened - she knew what she ought to do, but she was so far, and lost, and the voices wouldn't stop - How much time was left? Oh God, why her? Why did her life crumble to this? Agony rippled through her like nausea, but she knew - knew - she couldn't do this -
Jareth snatched his hand back, and Sarah found herself fighting back tears.
"I did try to warn you," he said, standing. He offered his hand, and Sarah took it cautiously.
"Where are we going?" she asked, confused.
"To claim our prize," he said.
And again, they disappeared.
They were both tucked away in the shadows long before the woman fell to her knees again and screamed that she'd given up. A nasty storm was brewing overhead, soaking the Labyrinth and the runner… but not them. Jareth stepped forward, pale hair whipping about his face as he offered his hand to help her stand. The woman looked so small next to him.
"I can't go any further," she choked, looking to the Goblin King with pleading eyes.
"Of course you can't, woman. You have given your all. It was not enough to ransom your son back to you."
"I have," she said, tears freely pouring from her eyes, mixing in with the dirt that stained her face. "I have, you know I have! That has to count for something. Please, give me my son back!" she screamed.
Sarah knew it was a futile request and shifted on her feet, trying to block the sound of the woman's sobbing.
The movement attracted the woman's attention; she ran to her. "Please, you have to help me! Make him return my baby!"
"I…."
"You look like him!" the woman babbled wildly. "You're part of this, aren't you? Please! He'll listen to you!"
Sarah half-turned away. "I don't have that power," she whispered.
"But you're a woman! You know what it's like!" She grabbed Sarah's hand and pressed it to her breast over her heart. "I didn't mean it! What I mean is in here - I love my baby boy! There has to be another way!"
"Is your love not steadfast enough to fight for your babe?" the fae asked with a sneer at the woman's back. "It would seem your heart is divided." She jumped and looked over her shoulder to him, and then back to Sarah.
"Help me," she croaked. "Please. You're my only hope. What should I do?"
Sarah's eyes lifted to Jareth's, and the warning in his eyes told her to tread very carefully. She took the woman's hands, not really knowing what she was doing. "You may continue if you would like," Sarah whispered as gently as she could. "Perhaps you may win still."
"I can't!" she cried. "I can't go anymore!"
Sarah nodded. "I know it can seem like that," she said, fighting back her own tears. "But if you cannot continue…"
"What? What will happen to my son?" she whimpered, and Jareth stepped forward.
"He will stay here and become one of us. I explained this to you at the beginning. If you were not prepared to sacrifice your all, you should have accepted your dreams." The woman's tears redoubled.
"Enough, Goblin King," Sarah hissed at him. She didn't have the proper vocabulary to describe the look he gave her, and at the same time, Sarah felt a sudden painful jolt throughout her entire body as though she'd been struck by lightning. She didn't know how, but she knew it was a warning. A warning from the Labyrinth. If she deviated from the Ritual, the consequences would be dire.
"I can't," the woman sobbed, wrapping her arms around her head like they were the only things keeping her together. "I already have five children. I told Mike that I'm pregnant again, and he just - just - he left me! Oh God, I'm going to have to get an abortion - I can't go through a pregnancy and take care of another baby on top of everything else. I'm already working three jobs as it is and I'm just so - so tired - I didn't mean to say it, I promise I didn't. I just - it was too much. There's no one to help, and Ollie was crying, and my body aches, and he just wouldn't stop screaming. He bit me while I was trying to nurse him and I said - It was just a story, but - so I - I'm so tired, but I had to try for him. What sort of mother doesn't try? But I can't - I don't have enough strength left. Oh my God, what will the kids say? But I can't, I just can't-"
Her heart breaking for the grief-stricken woman, Sarah knew what she had to say. The Labyrinth's methods were vicious, but if the woman was telling the truth, even Sarah could see that the woman was in no fit state to provide a good life for the child. Perhaps she hadn't meant the words that would whisk her child away, but she certainly meant her words now as her broken voice faded into a repeated series of: "I tried - I can't…"
Sometimes, to be merciful was to be cruel.
"If you cannot continue," Sarah said softly, cupping the woman's face in her hands, "then you must honor your side of the deal. You son will stay with us. You will return home. There is nothing more that can be done."
"W-w-will he be safe?" the woman's eyes were wide, the color of cocoa beans, and the guilt and terror in them broke Sarah's heart.
"Of course he will," Sarah said, trying to infuse her voice with confidence and warmth. "I promise. He will have a good life. A happy life, better than you are able to provide. Go back to your children. We will take care of Ollie for you."
"But - how can I -"
"Enough," Jareth barked. "Time to return you home." He grabbed the woman's arm; she cried out in fear, looking up into the face of the Goblin King as lightning streaked across the sky. He conjured a crystal and held it in front of the woman's face.
"Look into it and return."
"But I can't leave him!" she cried again. "I love Ollie! I can't leave him! We all love him!"
"You will leave him. He is ours now," Jareth sang. His eyes twinkled almost gleefully; this was a type of sadism Sarah almost didn't believe him capable of.
She reached out with her magic and found his soul pulsing in great waves with shared pain, self-loathing, and helpless fury. He was playing off the Runner's emotions, reading and manipulating her. She understood, then: this was the Runner's penance and absolution. The Goblin King was playing the villain so she didn't have to. It wouldn't be her fault, but his, that she left the Labyrinth with her arms empty. He would be responsible for her pain, not her. After all, she had done her best, and he had refused her leniency.
And it was tearing Jareth apart.
Sarah placed her hand over Jareth's, loosening his fingers on her arm. "I will…" she began. "Let me…"
His eyes met hers, hard and glittering.
"Finish it," he hissed after a moment and dropped the crystal into Sarah's other hand. He stalked away, out of sight, but she could still feel his volatile emotions pushing against at her defenses like waves breaking on a rock.
"Look at me," Sarah whispered, moving to block woman's view of Jareth pacing in the dark. The woman's eyes drifted to Sarah's. They had the resigned, pained look of a suffering animal about to die. "Just look into this crystal," Sarah urged. "Just look into the crystal and see your dreams. Trust me. All will be well."
The woman obeyed. Her eyes blinked slowly once, twice, and then she collapsed, taking Sarah to the ground with her.
It was then that Sarah finally let out the wail she'd been holding in.
Jareth stalked forward, bending at the waist to lift the woman's dead weight off of Sarah. "I assume you know your way back to the castle, Defeater," he told her. "I shall return the woman Above and reconvene with you after."
And just like that, the both of them were gone, leaving Sarah weeping on the cold stone of the ground, somehow dry in the whirlwind of a storm, except for her tear-streaked cheeks.
She pushed her magic out into the Labyrinth and felt nothing in return. Even Amsir was silent. This time, she was truely on her own.
She stood, brushed off her dress, squared her shoulders, and made the long trek back to the castle.
"She's asleep."
Sarah jumped. The glass of Fae mulled wine she'd been sipping at plummeted to the floor and shattered.
Jareth wearily waved a hand, and the shards reknit themselves into the cut-crystal goblet. "She's asleep," he repeated. "She'll wake in the hospital, with vague memories of an oncoming truck, emergency surgery, and apologetic doctors." He shrugged off his cloak with mechanical numbness and stumbled to their bed. "Useful thing the English have, National Health Care."
The dark-haired woman rushed to him. "Are you...all right?"
He stared at her. "I took a woman's child." He sneered. "I'm the dark, heartless monster of your childhood nightmares. I don't have the right to be 'all right.' Why wouldn't I be all right? I'm evil incarnate. Evil delights in suffering."
"Stop it," she said sternly. "You are not, and you do not. You have every right to be devastated. I understand now. I understand everything."
Something in his eyes twisted. "What is it that you think you understand?" he mocked.
"That you are generous," she said simply. "And no one thanks you for it. I felt what she did for a moment, but you endured that for hours. For every Runner, Jareth? You take it all, then give us exactly what we want. What we need. And you've been alone for all of it, for…. But now I'm here, and I will help. I…." She swayed, suddenly more exhausted than she'd realized. "I will help," she repeated.
Jareth stared at her in disbelief for several long moments, then grabbed her and pulled her on top of him. He buried his face in her neck and began to tremble. "I did all I could do," he said, his voice muffled in her evening robe. "I watched her mate's dreams before I returned her. Just to...make sure. He isn't coming back, Sarah. He abandoned her. So I… I can fix a leaky faucet, soften a few sheets, brighten the colors of wallpaper, rid their miserable patch of garden of weeds for the next lifetime… But I cannot help with the success of her other children, or her crime-ridden neighborhood, or her bastard of a mate. That's all I could do. Whether she awakes and decides to call it the work Christ or Satan, I made the choices so she didn't have to." He let out a broken laugh. "Godsdamn, I would loved to have gotten them a fucking puppy. A beagle, I think?"
"I know," Sarah crooned, drawing her hands through his hair consolingly. "I know. You did everything you could."
"Do you hate me?"
"I love you." She felt hot liquid spilling over her collarbone; she hugged him fiercely. She rubbed his back until his tears subsided, silence broken only by the crackling of the fire.
"Are you...all right?" Jareth asked eventually. His fingertips were tracing circles on the sliver of skin exposed by the opening of her robe. "Carrying out a Defeat is never easy, and I had thought - had hoped - that there would be more time to prepare you for...what it entails."
"I'll be fine," Sarah assured him. "My part was not so difficult, in comparison. If you ever freeze me out again, though," she added, "I may have to kick you in the nuts."
He snorted inelegantly. "I'll throw you in an oubliette for attempted treason if you try," he muttered. He gave a heavy sigh. "This… is not how I had intended for this day to play out."
"No, I imagine not," she said quietly. "Jareth, I … I was never told. What will happen to the child? Are they really turned into Goblins?"
The Fae snorted. "Even I wouldn't do that to an innocent human," he drawled; Sarah could hear a faint note of affection in his voice. "Have you ever seen a Goblin babe? Ugly as durian, and about as pleasant-smelling, too. The vile little creatures pop out of the ground like cicadas."
"Then what happens to the human babies…?"
"Ah." Jareth rolled over onto his back, flopping an arm over his face. "I have already sent word that we have a human child. There is a list of Fae whose empty arms ache such that for any child - even a human child - they will reach out gladly and take it into their home. Tonight, the babe is in an enchanted sleep. The babe - Ollie, was it? - will live a longer life than Aboveground, with no memory of the misery he felt until now." He peered over his forearm at her for a moment. "Not such a horrible fate, I would hope?"
"Not so horrible," Sarah agreed quietly. "Although I did entertain myself with trying to imagine Toby as a goblin once he got into his toddler years." She tried to ignore the pang in her heart when she thought of him. How long had it been since she'd talked with them? Toby's birthday would be coming up soon, wouldn't it? What month was it Aboveground?
Jareth snorted and covered his eyes fully again. "Don't insult my choice of Prince."
Sarah tried to keep her voice light and free of the sudden surge of homesickness for her family. "You'd send him back in a week. Trust me."
He chuckled again, but there was no real amusement in it. He reached out, twitched his fingers, and the far corner of the blanket twitched up and came to his beckoning hand. He tugged it over himself and Sarah, snuggling into her like a child, himself.
Sarah wrapped her arms around him. "It's not easy, being a king," she said quietly. "So let it be easy to be my lover."
