Chapter 11, Careless
Jareth reclined in his chair, tilting his head back until he faced the ceiling. He saw nothing, however. He kept his eyes closed —focused on the drawing of small breaths as he sat, suspended in the quiet of night.
A window close by was left open, allowing a shallow breeze to sweep through the room every now and then. It was cool and calm, carrying the dim blue light of the moon diffused through clouds. If he opened his eyes, he might appreciate the serenity of such a somber hue. Alas, the pure black behind his eyelids was a more ideal shade. Better to lose himself there than in a place where light gave darkness form.
He was pulled from his leisure by a knock, twice, at the door.
He did not acknowledge it, but it did not care. A moment later, the door creaked open. Jareth sighed, opening his eyes before begrudgingly pulling himself upright in his seat.
Lochlan entered. The look on his face was…annoying.
"Jareth?" he asked. Jareth quirked a brow. "It's very dark in here. …May I come in?"
He stood on the threshold, one foot already across it despite his request. Jareth's attention flickered to it, then up at the rest of him. He was glancing around with a sheepish look about him, hand gripped on the knob while his torso steadily leaned in. What a stupid image he made, Jareth thought —and then he remembered not everyone could see in the dark as well as him.
"What do you want, Lochlan?"
Jareth spoke from his shadowed spot across the room. The sound of his voice allowed Lochlan to finally locate him, and Jareth watched with boredom as his face lit up with the victory before quietly entering. He closed the door behind himself, then made his way over to Jareth's chair.
They were in a study. A large desk loomed in the centermost part of the room, just to the right of Jareth's chair. Lochlan perched himself on the edge of it before responding.
"I heard you came to our garden party," he said, casually drawing up a knee while gripping the rim with his hands. Jareth glared up at him irritably but did not respond. Lochlan tilted his head as he held that eye contact. "Did you enjoy yourself?"
The trace amount of light from the window to Jareth's left showed, in perfect clarity, the look of open inquisitiveness on Lochlan's face. Jareth did not say anything. He knew better than to play into that expression.
Lochlan frowned when Jareth only looked away.
"It was really quite riveting. One of our new fountains exploded. You wouldn't...happen to know anything about that, would you?"
His tone was leading. Of course it was. Jareth held his forehead and rolled his eyes.
"Have you come to scold me?" he asked.
Lochlan leaned back on the desk and crossed his legs at the ankle.
"No. I was just curious. Was it bothering you?"
A cloud moved across the moon, and, for a brief moment, revealed Jareth's profile more clearly. Lochlan saw his eyebrow twitch —but that wasn't the part of his face he'd been trying to see.
"Did she not tell you?" Jareth countered. Lochlan pursed his lips, pausing for effect while his head tilted again. He seemed fine… It was hard to tell in the dark, but...his marks...looked okay.
"Oh, she said many things," Lochlan replied, a wry inflection perking his voice. Jareth could not help but peer over. Lochlan grinned in satisfaction. "Alas, nothing in any useful detail. What happened? She...was not particularly happy after you left."
Jareth looked away on a blink, his countenance as stoic as ever. Lochlan waited, willing to whittle him down with sheer patience. He was invested after all, and taunted by curiosity. Sarah had been...suspiciously aloof after rejoining the party. He'd also noticed a distinct flush on her cheeks that did not belong exclusively to her vague (but all too palpable) frustration over a certain something that happened in the woods. If it wasn't for all the company, he would have pressed her for answers —something she must have known by the way she practically ran away the moment the festivity ended. Alas, that was several hours ago now. He tried to let it go, but...he'd bid all the time he could.
He supposed he could have simply asked the sentinel for the answers he sought. It would be equally, if not more, lively than Jareth for sure.
But where was the fun in that?
"I also noticed you summoned a sentinel to take her," he said, watching shrewdly as Jareth's head slowly turned. "Everything okay?"
Even in shadow, it was easy to see the flash of frustration that moved across Jareth's face.
"I'm fine," he said. Lochlan nodded.
"Yes. You do seem so…" And then he leaned his body to one side as he observed. "But...were you then?"
Jareth's jaw tightened. His hardened brow formed a glare directed at a wall. Lochlan was pushing his luck by acting so juvenile, but that was entirely the point. His mouth pursed in contemplation as he stared brazenly at Jareth.
The thought of reaching out, taking Lochlan by the collar, and throwing him clear out the window was not as intrusive as Jareth might say.
"I was...not," he said, biting the word.
"Why?"
Oh, so innocent. So irritating. The frankness of Lochlan's question went duly unappreciated as Jareth concealed a sneer by turning his head towards the window. Lochlan waited for an answer, but soon realized he would not get one. He sighed to himself, then straightened up.
"Well, whatever triggered you, you were able to control it —so that's something," he said. Jareth did not respond. "She didn't say anything about an episode. Did she realize?"
He watched Jareth blink, sulking with his chin resting on a fisted hand.
"She did," he replied.
The wriggle in Lochlan's brow was both curious and confused.
"Was she frightened?"
He sounded puzzled. Jareth stared intently out the window, but whatever he was trying to ignore was beyond him. In the end, he only blinked slowly before replying,
"...no."
"Really?" Lochlan asked, leaning up with surprise. "That's...good."
And now the gears were turning. Jareth could hear it in Lochlan's voice. He scowled to himself as his fist subtly tightened. The clouds had all gone. Now the light of the moon shone brightly and directly on them.
"No, it isn't," Jareth said, his voice quiet.
Lochlan paused. He'd been openly musing, which he figured was what had made Jareth so annoyed just now. Still, how could he not enjoy himself? This was all just too intriguing!
"She was happy you came," Lochlan said, observing Jareth's manner closely —unsurprised when his reaction was naught. "Honestly, I didn't think you would." And he leaned back against the desk to re-cross his ankles. He waited a beat to give Jareth the opportunity to respond. He didn't, naturally. Lochlan sighed impatiently. "If you have such a problem," he began, his tone rising. "—it's easy enough to avoid her. You know that, yes?"
A trace amount of the scolding Jareth had been preemptively dreading revealed itself via Lochlan's curt inflection. Jareth's eyes slanted to Lochlan from the side, locking with his for a brief moment. The look on Lochlan's face was now twisted with dissatisfaction, exemplified by a huff and an unnecessary shake of the head.
"I still don't understand why you said yes if you're just going to be grumpy about it," he said, shrugging his shoulders and looking away. Jareth's head turned towards him a little more, eyes sharpening.
"You goaded me," he said.
Lochlan's brow shot up.
"Hm?"
"You instigated me in the drawing room on purpose," Jareth clarified, angling his head to one side when Lochlan turned back to look at him. "You knew I would never say yes in my right mind."
Accusation was laid heavily into those words. However, the effect it was meant to have fell somewhere other than on Lochlan.
Lochlan's eyes peered from left to right awkwardly before turning his hands up as he shrugged.
"Your right mind? That implies I thought you would say yes in your left mind, or in any mind for that matter—"
"Tch." Jareth sneered and looked away, crossing his arms as he shook his head to himself. Lochlan leaned forward.
"What, is the dust bothering you?"
"I don't know what you're after with this matchmaking game," Jareth snapped, cutting him and his facetious tone dead while shooting him a side eye. "—but I would appreciate it if you would just stop."
Ooh, he hit a nerve. There was a time when Lochlan would have continued teasing him. However, seeing the darkened look building on Jareth's face had him reigning it in. Lochlan leaned back against the desk again and crossed his own arms to mirror Jareth's seriousness.
"You know exactly what I want, Jareth," he said, glancing away petulantly. "You just won't believe me." He was met with predictable silence. Lochlan took the chance to push a little more. "Why her?" he asked. Jareth looked up despite himself. "What exactly happened between you back then? She doesn't see you like the rest of them. I'm glad for that, but...it surprises me. Is that why you won't tell her? Are you afraid she'll look at you differently?"
Those unfamiliar with the fine art of reading stoicism might think Jareth remained unresponsive. Lochlan, however, knew better. Jareth stared up at him unblinking, conveying a slight —but steady— tension about him with each new word spoken. Lochlan could tell he was getting close to a tender subject now. Hm.
"She's not one of us, Jareth," Lochlan said, relaxing his arms and taking hold of the desk once more. "I doubt she'll comprehend, let alone care."
"I asked you to stop."
Lochlan paused. He'd been in the process of casually glancing away just then, and compulsively peered down when Jareth cut him off. His tone was brusque, as was his expression. Lochlan...frowned.
"Fine," he said, rolling his eyes in disappointment. "But you're being very frustrating."
An uneasy silence carried the next several seconds. Lochlan pursed his lips and glanced around, falling pitifully bored and sighing dramatically because of it.
"I suppose I'll leave you to it, then," he said and stood to his feet. "I know when I'm not wanted. I was curious about the level two you tried to brush off, but you seem your usual, malcontent self. I guess that's a good thing. My job is done." Lochlan spoke with a cavalier air which he tossed a hand through as he turned away. He really was disappointed, and now slightly aggravated. Why did Jareth have to be such a spoilsport? Would no one tell him what happened in the woods?!
He was halfway across the room and shaking his head to himself when Jareth abruptly called out to him.
"Lochlan."
Lochlan paused. That tone was a command, the way his body froze on a dime was instinctive of it. His internal griping faded and he turned on his heel, facing Jareth expectantly.
Most of the Prince was cast in shadow, but what Lochlan could see rendered him concerningly austere —the sharp crest of a cheekbone and a brightly highlighted, single eye cast in shades of the deepest midnight blue.
"There's something...peculiar...I'd like your input on before you go," Jareth said. Lochlan blinked in confusion.
"Alright?"
"I've been thinking...The terms Sarah and I originally parted on were not particularly amiable," he said, crossing an ankle over a knee as his head cryptically tilted. "I'm curious as to how you were able to persuade her to come back."
A highlight caught on the toe of his boot as he shifted his posture. In a sense it was more lax, but somehow felt...dangerous.
"That's a question better asked to her, isn't it?" Lochlan replied.
Jareth had been pinching his chin while staring at him. That hand then turned to a fist and moved to support his cheek.
"No," he said, clipped. "It's not."
Suspicion filled the shadows of the room as Jareth held a stony stare. Lochlan's brow slowly drew together, but caught itself before the look could become too apparent. Uh oh. The Prince was attentive. Now he'd done it.
"Alright then. What would you like to know?"
"You blessed her home; a grand feat for someone like you."
Lochlan smiled on impulse and looked to the floor.
"Ah. Yes, but I cannot take all the credit. Your father helped with that."
He shrugged casually and looked back up again. It was hard to tell, but he got the impression Jareth's gaze was narrowing on him.
"Hm...you even cured her father...who had a terminal illness."
"Yes," Lochlan replied, frankly. "It was very heartwarming."
A contemplative pause followed, each second tracked by the quiet tapping of Jareth's index finger against the arm of his chair.
"She's fortunate," he said, then stopped tapping. "It was very convenient that you happened to show up right when you were needed."
Lochlan averted his eyes, moving around a hand while he spoke.
"Fortunate. Convenient. —sentiments that happily applied to the both of us."
By the time Lochlan's eyes made it full circle, the edge forming in Jareth's stare had sharpened with vexation. There was a tightness about his mouth, the precipice of a sneer to be formed.
"You're being stupid," Jareth replied, low and clipped. "Do not treat me like I am stupid as well."
"I'm not," Lochlan retorted, keeping cool. "I've simply responded to your observations. If there's something you'd like to ask me, Jareth, then ask it."
Oh. That might not have been the best approach to take. Lochlan realized this after the fact. Still, he did not take well to interrogations, let alone ones as vague as this.
To Lochlan's relief, Jareth's response to that challenging quip was to simply lean forward in his seat. He uncrossed his legs, and moved his fist forward to support his chin instead.
"I cannot think of another scenario where she would be so willing to trade her freedoms for this. Which, of course, makes me wonder...if you did not contrive that scenario in the first place."
The smart half of Lochlan had to stop the cheeky half of Lochlan from pointing out that that still was not a question. Alas, he knew he'd been cornered. Oh, what to do...
"You think I gave that human cancer so that I could present myself as her savior?" he asked, passive aggressively supplanting the question into the conversation. Jareth ignored his tone utterly.
"Did you?"
Lochlan was silent, stewing maybe. He'd since crossed his arms and was now angling away. Irritation creased Jareth's brow as he stared at him.
"No," Lochlan said, turning his head back to Jareth confidently. "When I first located her, he was already ill. They simply hadn't realized it yet," he explained. Despite his hopes, Jareth only looked even more suspicious of him. Lochlan watched his eyes narrow just as a cloud passed and hid him from sight.
"And when was that?" he asked.
Lochlan glanced to the side, mulling something over before replying,
"...two years ago," he said, and took a leisurely step to the side. "You're right. I watched her for a long while, and could not find anything to use as a means of bargaining with her. I tracked her father's illness hoping it would worsen on its own, but…"
His voice trailed off as his eyes averted, a hand going to the back of his head and scratching it. Jareth arched a brow.
"On its own?" he repeated.
Lochlan inhaled long through his nose and bobbed his head, becoming a little fidgety before eventually replying,
"Fine. I got impatient. I may have sped up his illness a bit...but I did not cause it." He cut a hand through the air decisively, then threw it up as if they were arguing. "I mean, what else was I supposed to do? The Aboveground is so boring, and, for all I knew, he might have recovered on his own. All that time would have been wasted. Then what leverage would I have had? None."
He sounded put out, like such admittance deserved Jareth's sympathy. Jareth, however, could do little more than pinch the bridge of his nose and close his eyes.
"She thinks herself a martyr by coming here. You lied to her and—"
"And what?" Lochlan cut him off. Jareth opened his eyes and lowered his hand. "What about it? Does it even really matter?" He sounded suddenly defensive, and proved it by turning himself away. He was staring out at the room now, his brow drawing tight in exasperation. "I could have waited another year or five until his condition maybe turned critical naturally, but do you really think you have that kind of time?" He paused and looked over to lock eyes with Jareth. The severity in his expression implied he expected an answer. Jareth's jaw tightened. "Well, I don't," Lochlan went on, sternly. "—And neither does your father."
Mention of the King weighed the atmosphere of the room immediately, and now suddenly Lochlan had the upper hand. Jareth's teeth ground as he gripped the arm of his chair. It would be better...to hold himself back right now.
"We're well past the point of such sentimentality, Jareth," Lochlan said, staring proudly when he added, "I did what I needed to do."
Jareth shifted in his seat and looked away, growling inaudibly to himself as he grew more flustered.
"Saving me is not her responsibility," he said.
Lochlan arched a brow.
"It is now."
Jareth stewed in silence, tongue pressed to the backs of his teeth as he mused over a colorful myriad of unpleasant thoughts. He should have known from the start there was more to the story. He should have had the forethought to see that she was being used...
"When she learns what you've done," Jareth said, speaking slowly to keep himself composed. "I doubt she'll want any part of this."
"When?" Lochlan repeated. Jareth cast him and his provoking upturn a side eye. "You're going to tell her? Really?" he asked further, placing a haughty hand to his hip while his brow twisted. "Do you honestly think that is in her best interest? You just said it, she thinks herself a martyr. Why take that away? How will that improve her situation?"
Despite Jareth's annoyance, he knew Lochlan was right, and so did not bother to reply. He merely sat there brooding, his attention drawn more and more to the open window—
"You've surprised me, Jareth," Lochlan went on. "I didn't think you, who keeps so many secrets, had such integrity." The passive aggression in that comment was hardly passive. It did as it was intended and struck a nerve immediately. Jareth glared up, but this time Lochlan did not back down. A silent dialogue passed between them, and then Lochlan huffed curtly while looking away.
"Do what you will," he said, and tossed a hand about. "Tell her of my deceit; I don't care. My job was simply to get her here, so it doesn't matter if she hates me." And then he paused as a thought struck. "But...I suppose...that would only make her admire you more, hm?" And then he glanced back at Jareth with a cheeky grin. "Go on, tell her then. Ooh, now it's fun."
In usual fashion, Lochlan had gone full circle and was now positively delighted. His smile stretched wider, his eyes lighting up with all those fun imaginings that were quick to distract him. He caught the motion of Jareth shaking his head from the corner of his eye, however, and stopped.
"What, did I ruin the moral high ground for you?" he asked, with eyes barely narrowed. "Interesting."
That word had weight. Meant monumentally more than it seemed. Another trigger of irritation went off in Jareth because of it. Only now, he couldn't bring himself to glare. No, Jareth —in all his might— found himself unable to look incessantly-smug Lochlan in the eye.
Lest he endure that degradation for one moment longer, Jareth stood to his feet and went towards the window.
"You're insufferable," he muttered, scowling at the moon before pulling himself up onto the sill and leaping clear out of it.
"And then he just left! Just like that! Can you believe it?!"
Sarah swayed as she shook her head, throwing up a dramatic hand in the air which she had to slam back down to the table before losing her balance.
"Freaking guy. Seriously. What is his deal?"
By now her torso was leaning excessively over the table while the hand not clutching the neck of a wine bottle clawed the air for response. Cedric stared down at her with pursed lips, silently drying off glasses while she ranted.
"And another thing—" and she hiccupped. "What the hell kind of dude just peaces out willy nilly? I mean, I don't think I can make this any easier. It's damn near demeaning." Her voice turned squeaky high as she spoke at a knot in the wood, blinking at it dubiously before peering up at Cedric. "Well?"
Cedric was silent, waiting to see if she was actually done before daring to participate prematurely —he'd made that mistake thrice already.
She cocked a brow at him like he was stupid. He figured that meant it was okay.
"I think you may want to start pacing yourself, Mistress," he said, keeping his tone neutral while placing another now dry glass into its appropriate rack. Sarah rolled her eyes and groaned.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah…"
She made a pouty face and curled her arms into a nest for her head, slumping into it as she turned to the side. There was a goblin sitting in the chair beside her, listening attentively. Their eyes locked for a moment. It'd been next to her for a while now, but hadn't exactly spoken. That was fine. Sarah had been speaking to it plenty.
"I just...feel like I'm making a fool out of myself, you know?" she said to it. "I don't think I should be trying so hard."
Stupor made her passion fade just as quickly as it had sparked, leaving her to look and sound thoroughly sullen. Cedric stared at her with sympathy, glancing down at the fresh glass in his hand before responding.
"I don't think you've done anything foolish," he said. Sarah lazily turned her head to face him. "It seems to me like...His Highness is simply...difficult to manage."
Sarah snorted obnoxiously.
"Yeah. So I was warned."
Her attention drifted away into a moment of silence. The goblin tilted its head at her, then she leaned up to her elbows and peered around the room. Aside from the three of them, the kitchen was empty. It was odd seeing it after hours, so quiet and still and breathable. A part of her wondered if she was being a nuisance to Cedric by keeping him here. Surely drying off glasses was beneath him. Alas, he'd been foolish enough to give her the leftover wine from the party. She was his problem now.
But he seemed content enough —standing there, on the other side of the table, looking so engrossed over catching each and every water spot...
"So," Sarah said, slouching with her cheek pressed to the heel of her hand. "—what's the scoop with you, anyway?"
Cedric paused and glanced over at her.
"Pardon?"
"You seem pretty chill," she said, leaning up to sit properly. "Most of the others got goats up their asses—" She rolled her eyes to the goblin as she said that. Their eyes locked, and it looked momentarily panicked before she grinned and rolled her eyes away. "I'd like to know, what're your thoughts on this place?"
She felt bad for being such a conversation hog, drawing on and on about her own particular thoughts on particular places and the particular people or things within them. T'was his turn to unburden himself —or so her nosey nature rationalized.
"It's fine," Cedric said with an anticlimactic shrug. "I work in a kitchen. So long as I have an oven and a sink, I can make do."
Sarah felt herself slumping onto her knuckles again.
"Hmmmmmmm."
She hummed excessively, staring at him with narrow eyes which failed to break through his calm and cool veneer. Oh, and what a veneer it was! —she told herself.
"I guess….but what else?" she asked, trying to probe without any discretion whatsoever. Cedric chuckled to himself and gave her a coy shrug. "Aw, come on, barkeep! You suck at this," she lamented, casting her head back and groaning in a display unfit for any lady, let alone a prince's intended. Cedric was tactful enough not to laugh. "Please? You gotta give me somethin'. Surely, you're able to tell me one interesting fact about this place."
They locked eyes but to no avail. She was giving him her most glary glare, but his mouth only pursed harder in restrained amusement. Sarah tried not to growl, cursing the way his cheeks balled up so adorably as she gave up and averted her eyes.
She pouted while staring upward across the room, then pointed haphazardly in that direction.
"How about that? What can you tell me about that?"
Cedric followed her line of sight and looked over at the thing she was pointing to. There was a banner hanging on the far wall —faded, warped, and slightly singed from the frequent heat and humidity of the daily labors.
"Ah," Cedric responded, setting another glass into the rack. "That would be the Erewhon crest. Have you not seen it before?"
Sarah quirked a brow but didn't bother looking at him. This was hardly something she wanted to talk about, but at least he was willing to answer her.
"I have. They had a bunch of em' all lined up at the garrison," she said, then dragged her bottle back across the table and took a swig. "I figured it was the flag or something. I was just wondering if the pictures meant anything."
To her recollection, the banner in question displayed the same imagery as those at the garrison. It was a deep purple. Sewn into it was a colorful, patterned shield with a crown atop it. It was held upright on either side by a mirrored pair of golden, winged beasts. Sarah had no idea what they were, but they were horned, both taloned and hooved, and wore collars that resembled crowns themselves. They each held a crystal in one claw and a sword in the other, accentuated by some manner of foliage of a satiny, blue chroma. And...there was a symbol on the shield...it reminded her of something, but she couldn't put her finger on what.
"Of course it means something. Have you no heraldry in your world?"
She couldn't tell if he'd asked that question rhetorically, and only glanced over at him with a snide, half-there look of boredom. Cedric smirked to himself and set his wares down, devoting his attention to the topic.
"Sorry. I'm not up to date on my heraldry," she said, pretending she even knew what that word meant. Cedric didn't seem to notice. Or, if he did, was kind enough to ignore her bolstering and fill in the blanks.
"Well, this crest represents the family of the current Erewhon monarchy, not necessarily the country of Erewhon itself. We have a separate flag for that," he began. Sarah feigned interest. "The colors on the shield are standard: a golden ermine for the glory of sovereignty, red and violet stripes for regality, magnanimity, and military might. The crown, of course, is self-explanatory—"
"Uh-huh, uh-huh…" Sarah nodded along, blinking slowly in reflection of her quickly fading buzz.
"The swords are, naturally, a sign of physical strength. The crystals represent magic. The branches behind them are blue, signifying the faith the people should have in Erewhon's fortitude. The bend dexter is slight, representing humble ambition—"
"The wha?"
Cedric paused and looked down at Sarah.
"Oh. Sorry. That orange stripe cutting diagonally across the shield? It's called a bend dexter."
"Ah," Sarah replied, nodding before cocking her head. "And, uh, what are those animals, exactly?"
Cedric blinked. Like he was surprised. Sarah stared at him expectantly despite it.
"Ah..." And then the light clicked. "Oh, right. I forgot such creatures might not exist in the Aboveground." And he glanced back at the banner. "Those are perytons. Well, arc perytons."
Sarah stared at him patiently as she waited for him to elaborate further, but the unsuspecting look on his face told her he was oblivious to her predicament. She inhaled through her nose and rolled her eyes obnoxiously.
"Okay...and...what's a peryton?"
This time Cedric looked over at her.
"Have you not heard of those either?" he asked. Sarah shook her head.
"They are one of the divine beasts. A winged hybrid. Perytons are something like...an amalgamation of an ungulate and a bird of prey."
"An ungul-wha?" Sarah repeated, her mouth hanging open while one eye winced. Cedric wriggled his brow.
"A deer...I suppose."
Sarah glanced away, acknowledging the words but not their tone. If Cedric was at all uncomfortable with her graceless behavior, she lacked the capacity to care.
"Huh...So that explains the hooves then?" she asked. Cedric nodded.
"Yes. Common perytons also have the head of a doe or stag. However, arc perytons, as shown here, possess the face of a bird. They are much more rare."
Sarah puckered her lips and tapped them with a finger as she stared at the images on the banner. A part of her wanted to express surprise (if not amazement) that such creatures actually existed, but the more lucid part didn't want to make herself look even more stupid. She mulled over her next question carefully, but what her inebriated faculties decided on might not have been much better.
"So, arc perytons have bird heads, but...they still have horns?"
Yup. That sounded smarter in her head.
"Yes," Cedric replied.
Sarah leaned forward and narrowed her eyes.
"Huh. They kind of look like owls…" And then she cocked a brow while leaning back in her chair. "You know, the Prince can turn into an owl."
"Yes," Cedric replied, earning her attention. "—As can his father. I believe that is why the arc peryton was chosen for their family's crest."
"Really? Is that like...a hereditary power?"
Cedric's eyes averted and he bobbed his head in ambivalence.
"Yes...and no. The ability to change form must be taught and learned, but what we change into is not our choice. There is normally consistency within a bloodline, but not always," he explained. Sarah watched him speak with a fixed gaze.
"Huh. That's cool."
"Yes. It's fitting as well," Cedric continued, nodding in the direction of the banner. "The peryton is a very poignant symbol. It is a creature that harbors much wisdom and self restraint, but it will attack and conquer if provoked."
Sarah peered over at the flag slyly, taking in all its colors and patterns of great eminence and war, and the idolatry of those two golden cryptids with their flourished wings and puffed up chests.
"Wow," she said, lackluster. "That's one intimidating flag."
Cedric did not pick up on her sarcasm.
"Indeed."
Seeing the look of satisfaction he held despite her quip made her want to laugh, but she supposed there was nothing wrong with having pride in one's nation. She let the opportunity to be an ass go, and instead twirled a finger at a particular spot on the crest.
"What's uh...what's that thing on the shield? That swirly symbol, there? I feel like...I've seen that somewhere…"
Seriously. What was it? She knew that symbol. It was right there, on the edge of her brain—
"That is the sign of Seel."
And then she lost it. Epiphany faded into nothing as she turned towards Cedric with a deeply furrowed brow.
"The who?"
Cedric laughed, openly. It was a sound that had been long held back, and moved deeply in his chest.
"Seel," he repeated. Sarah stared dumbly. "It is what we call our people. I know a more popular term in your world is fae."
"Oh," Sarah replied, then looked away. "It looks like an infinity symbol."
"It does. As we are unending. It also represents balance."
Sarah thought for a moment. She thought really hard. She wasn't exactly sure what about, but there was a feeling there. A realization. It was so close. She could almost touch it—
"Wait a minute!" she suddenly exclaimed, scaring that poor goblin by her side damn-near out of his boots. "I remember now. Ja-His Highness has a necklace like that. Only...he wears it upside down?"
Yesssss. That was it. That's where she'd seen it before. The entire shield, actually. It was shaped just like Jareth's necklace. Only, on the banner, the pointy part faced down...
"Yes," Cedric interjected into her musing. "I suppose he does."
Well that was cryptic. Sarah looked over at Cedric in puzzlement.
"Is it supposed to be that way?" she asked. Cedric was silent. Well, he paused. Still, it was plenty long enough for Sarah to realize it meant something. Huh, and here she'd thought it was probably just an aesthetic choice... "Why would he wear it upside down?" she asked.
Cedric's eyes darted, though he remained perfectly casual.
"As a reminder, I would say."
Oh. Double cryptique.
"Of what?"
Another pause. Surely, it was the alcohol making things move in slow motion. Surely, this wasn't another fucking secret she'd just caught red in the face—
"Where he came from...of course."
Cedric's response was ready but altogether vague —as was his pleasant smile while saying it. Sarah narrowed her eyes on him in suspicion, but that was all the interrogation she could manage. Alas, she was just too buzzed to worry about it.
"Hm…"
The way she stared at him was invasive. He could practically feel her judgements creeping over him. She sat hunched over the table facing him, her head angled up while pinching her chin. He supposed she thought she looked quite serious right now, so he tried to act stern for her sake instead of grin. Oh, what a breath of fresh air this funny new human was.
"That hum sounds rather ominous, Mistress," he eventually said, having to turn his body away when an impulsive smirk broke through. Time to start stacking those racks, he supposed…
He spoke out again from over his shoulder.
"Something wrong?"
He heard her exhale through her nose and lean back in her chair, fingers tapping restlessly along the tabletop.
"I'm just...thinking," she murmured.
"Thinking what?"
"You've been here a while, right?" she asked. He nodded. "You seem to know Ja-ah-ah His Highnessss a bit. Know his likes and dislikes 'n all that. What can you tell me about him?"
Cedric smiled as he placed a rack of glasses up into a cupboard, but then compulsively looked down before speaking.
"Well, I wouldn't go that far. The previous chef simply passed down the Prince's culinary preferences when he left; although, I suppose I have learned a bit on my own since then—"
"Oh come on," she cut him off abruptly. "His diet is not what I meant and you know it." There was that telltale pause again. Sarah used it to think. "Okay. Let's try this a different way. How long have you been working here?"
She watched Cedric's head tilt as he stood with his back to her.
"A...bout a century," he answered.
Hmph, Sarah griped internally. Ask the right questions. Ask the right questions, they said!
"Why did the last guy leave?" she asked next, then caught a glimpse of his contemplative look when his head turned and angled to the side.
"I believe you would call it...retirement?" he said, then placed another rack in the cupboard. "Every fae who serves on this island is under a royal contract. Each contract is negotiated differently, but all are bound by a set number of years of service."
Sarah nodded to herself.
"Ah, so his contract ended and he was let go?"
"Essentially."
"How long is your contract?"
"Two-hundred-and-fifty years."
Another break in the conversation followed, but this time it was caused by Sarah. She thought intently for a moment, (took another drink) and then spoke up again.
"What were you doing before serving here?"
"I was studying Aboveground cuisine. I believe I mentioned that to you before."
"Right."
Well, he was downright chatty now, wasn't he? Sarah wondered how she could use her questions and his answers to her advantage, maybe do some of her own scrupulous manipulating….if she was even competent enough at the moment to do so.
"So...how'd you get roped into this position?" she asked.
Cedric paused in his movement, but she didn't notice. There was an innocent upturn in her voice just then. He smiled discreetly to himself.
"I volunteered," he said.
"Oh? Does that mean people are also recruited?"
Oh. How perceptive. He was surprised by her question, and turned back to face her when replying.
"Staff members are typically recruited when it comes to posts as isolated as this, yes."
Their gazes crossed and she tilted her head at him curiously.
"So why did you volunteer?"
His quick blink was a sign of fluster, but her half-dazed eyes failed to see it. It seemed she was steadily backing him into a corner now. He only wondered how much he could get away with telling her…
"I wanted to support His Highness...in whatever small way I can," he said.
Sarah's brow arched with intrigue.
"...why?"
If this were chess, that would have been check. Her voice was light, but her glazed over eyes were deceptively shrewd, he now noticed. He supposed he could always just stop replying, but...
"His Highness suffers from a great burden," he said, glancing away towards the door in case any big brothers felt like dropping in. "He's been in this place for so long that I think many people have forgotten that. I find that to be a great shame."
"So you're not afraid of him?" Sarah asked. Cedric, forgoing his chores, crossed his arms and leaned back against the edge of the counter behind him.
"Oh, I don't know about that. I suppose if I ever met him, I might be."
He shrugged. Sarah straightened up in her seat.
"Wait, you've been here for a hundred years and you've never even met him?" she asked. Cedric shook his head plainly.
"No. Any correspondence I might share with him goes through the goblins."
And now she looked disgruntled. He was about to point out that such a thing was not unusual —even in typical society. That, in fact, what was unusual was a royally betrothed castle mistress getting drunk alone in the kitchens and raving about her personal matters to indiscriminate servants. Alas, she beat him to it.
"You said before that everyone fears him because they don't understand him," she mused aloud, scowling down at the table like the pieces just didn't quite fit. "—and you said that you do."
"I like to think I do," he replied. Sarah glanced up sharply.
"But you've never met him?"
"No."
And then she closed her eyes and raised a hand between them.
"I'm sorry. I'm drunk." And she shook her head. "You're going to have to spell this out for me."
"We're not supposed to talk about matters involving His Highness," Cedric said. He sounded matter of fact, and was determined to mean it...but then she sighed. She looked away and frowned. He knew that he could end the conversation here, but…
Cedric let out a sigh of his own.
"So I guess...I'll just have to tell you of matters involving myself."
Sarah perked up in her seat, her eyes widening with surprise and confusion and blatant eagerness over the fact that someone had just audibly spoken to her the words I'll just have to tell you and meant it.
"What His Highness is going through...is not unique to him," Cedric began. Sarah sat attentively. "It is actually an affliction that befalls a small number of our kind from time to time. And...it is...brutal."
"Lord Leche said it's not a curse," Sarah said, blinking quickly as she thought her way through stupor. "So...is it a disease?"
"It is as much a curse as it is a disease, I suppose," Cedric replied, catching her stare when she reflexively looked up again. "There is a lot of debate on the issue."
A curse and a disease? Both and neither? Is that what he was saying? And people were debating this? What exactly was going on? It seemed like a huge part of this world had just dawned on her, but she still had no idea how to see it clearly. Fuck, it didn't help that she'd downed two whole bottles of wine…
"So did you...go through this same affliction?" she asked. Cedric looked down and away. Sarah found that to be...notable.
"No," he said, then forced a weak smile. "But my brother did."
There was something sad about the way he said that. Sarah felt her brow turning down.
"What happened to him? Did he get better?"
She watched him shift in his spot, adjusting his arms and putting his weight on the opposite foot. And she got a feeling...she wasn't going to like his answer.
"...No, unfortunately," he said, then awkwardly looked over at her. "He died."
Expectedly, he watched Sarah's eyes widen as she sat up and leaned over the table.
"Wh—because of the affliction?" she asked, her voice raised. A part of him felt guilty for causing such a reaction...best to settle her down.
"No. …not directly," he said. Sarah stared confusedly. "But, that's why I wanted to come here. I wanted to support the Prince because I've seen what it is like for someone to live under that kind of duress. Not many can empathize, and most who go through it are simply….judged."
"Judged?" Sarah repeated.
"Yes. Individuals carrying those marks are often considered….I believe an appropriate term from your world would be...untouchable." He paused for effect just long enough to see her expression shift from confusion to aghast. "It is so...looked down on….that even speaking of it is practically an offense."
Sarah looked away. She had to. It was too damn hard to focus. Her head was buzzing all around her, but she'd be damned if she let this opportunity go. She needed to think. To analyze and retain, and ask the right questions. So...the reason he's ashamed is because of a cultural thing? Is that why he won't talk about it? But—but I'm a foreigner! What the hell do I know?! She could feel herself getting angry unnecessarily and shook her head to keep herself on track. But I guess...maybe it is still a big deal... He's so high profile, the only prince of a nation. It must mean even more, then. Be considered even worse...for someone like him…
In those brief moments of contemplation, she tried to imagine what it must feel like for him —to be a prince who was looked down on. Who was sent away and left alone. Who was feared and judged. So many things were starting to make sense now: the King and Queen's behavior, Greta's gossip about Talia, and Lochlan's everything. She told Lochlan before that she didn't pity Jareth, but...damn. How could she not feel bad?
"And...his research is what's causing this affliction?" she asked, needing the clarification. Cedric glanced quickly at the door and then away again.
"No. But...it has seemed to worsen it."
Well that didn't quite click. She could have sworn Lochlan said it was his research that was causing the fits. So, that was another half truth then? Or maybe...they were both truthful. Maybe his experiments did lead to fits like Lochlan told her, and made them worse as Cedric just said, but...what mattered to Sarah was the new little detail that whatever was going on with him, whatever caused the affliction was something that had happened before his time on the island.
"Hm…" She made a low noise of dissatisfaction as she mulled all this over, staring down at the table with tightly pursed lips. "Untouchable…" she mumbled, then looked up at Cedric. "I spoke with the Queen before coming here. She told me he can't become king until his work here is finished. Until he does what must be done. I imagine...an Untouchable cannot be King," she said. Cedric nodded.
"You imagine correctly."
"Is...that his trial, then? His research?" And then the cogs turned faster. "Is he...trying to cure himself?"
She stared up at Cedric questioningly, waiting on his answer despite her own assurance. Cedric held her stare, knowing deep down that he should have just stopped speaking the very first time she'd asked why.
"Yes," he said, tightly.
Sarah's brow knitted, like the affirmation disheartened her, like she was disappointed by it. She lost some of her passion, too, and relaxed in her seat.
"I see. Thank you for explaining that. I guess it all...makes more sense now."
Introspection lined her voice, and he was glad she seemed content to let it end there. He inhaled deeply to rid himself of any tension that might have built, the sound and the action catching her attention which she impulsively peered up at.
"Good," he said, with a kind of cheerful relief. "I'm glad to have helped...but...please don't let anyone know I've told you this. I may be reprimanded," he added with a polite grin. "It's not that you cannot know these things, more that—"
"It's taboo and you're just not supposed to talk about it. Yeah. I get it now," she cut him off, waving at him much to his reassurance. "And don't worry, I won't say anything. I'm not that drunk." She gave him a halfcocked smile which he couldn't help but return before slanting her eyes to the side and leaning far back in her chair. "I'm trusting you with the stupidity of this afternoon's disaster, so you can definitely trust me with this—" and then she leaned forward suddenly, half-standing while offering out an erected pinky. "Pinky swear."
Cedric, unfamiliar with the gesture, looked to be in immense confusion as he intuitively lifted a hand and tentatively locked his pinky with hers. Sarah latched on with a deathgrip and shook until he looked visibly alarmed. Watching a man as tan and robust as he become so awkward so quickly had her giggling like an ass. It was so delightful, she remembered to take up her wine bottle once more before sitting back down.
"That there is a sacred oath in the Aboveground," she said, bolstering out her ass before taking a deep gulp. "No one breaks a pinky promise. No one."
Cedric smiled in amusement.
"Good to know, Mistress."
The bottle popped from her lips, and she was about to offer it to Cedric in celebration of this deeper level of comradery, when both their attention was captured by the loud creak of the door opening behind her.
Cedric looked over. Sarah turned around in her chair and sat up on her knees.
"Hey, look! It's Julio!"
Sarah shouted with glee and pointed a finger across the room to land on Lochlan, who then froze utterly in place and looked around in confusion.
Realizing that he was the only one there and that apparently he was Julio, he looked over at Cedric in befuddlement.
Cedric gave him a look of sympathy and shrugged.
"Why are you just standing there?" Sarah asked. Lochlan looked at her guardedly. "Come on over and pop a squat. Tell us all about your day."
She turned and then shoved the chair adjacent to her away from the table. The scrape against the stone floor was loud and obnoxious, but not quite as much as her. That's when he noticed the near-empty bottle she held tight in her right hand.
Oh.
Caught off guard, Lochlan found himself clearing his throat as he joined them at the table.
"Well...you were with me for most of it," he said. Sarah's brow shot up.
"Oh. Right. So it sucked."
She sounded grumpy but giggled at the end. Lochlan only became more confused, bordering on worried, and stared at her intently.
"...are you alright?" he asked.
Sarah, angling her head upward with eyes closed as she drank from the bottle, paused, peeped one eye open, and looked at him.
"Hm? Peachy. Why?"
Lochlan peered over at Cedric disapprovingly before responding.
"You seem...drunk."
Sarah laughed.
"Ooh, clever girl."
This time Cedric laughed as well. Their combined mockery went unappreciated, or at least Cedric's part in it, by the way Lochlan shot him another stern look.
"Correct me if I'm wrong," he said, bringing his attention in all its pleasantry back to Sarah. "—but...aren't you under the legal age of consumption in your world?"
A sharpness formed on Sarah's brow before the solid thump of her bottle hitting the table echoed throughout the room.
"Yeah? What of it? I'll be twenty-one in like, two months. You gonna nark?"
She sounded irritated. She looked down right offended. Lochlan considered his actions for a moment.
"...I don't know what that means," he ended up saying.
Sarah huffed and then leaned down, nudging the goblin still by her side with an elbow and whispering, "Something a nark would say."
"Is there something I can help you with, Lord Leche?" Cedric interjected, bringing Lochlan's look of admonishment off that foolhardy girl and putting it on him instead. "As you can see, aside from our lovely mistress here, the kitchens are closed."
Lochlan stared with pursed lips. Cedric was obviously trying to challenge him, provoke him into being, what Sarah might call, a party-pooper. Alas, was he wrong to be concerned for her wellbeing? A young woman should not be intoxicated in unfamiliar settings and with unfamiliar folk. Just what kind of standards had the world above fallen to?
On the other hand, he could use some face after that squabble with Jareth. It might not matter if she hated him, but...he would prefer her not to.
"Ah," he said, playing it all off so casually. "I just wanted to touch base with Miss Williams here…"
"Oh?" she said, peeking up and looking over. "Lucky me. What's up?"
"I did as you asked and checked on His Highness," he said, frankly. Sarah froze like a plank. Taking that as a small victory, he smiled brightly. "I think he'll be fine," he added —sweetly.
Sarah looked to the side with eyes that darted far away and hid herself behind the discretion of a prolonged swig.
That ass. He'd caught her off guard on purpose. That was supposed to be a secret. How would people believe Jareth was chasing after her (like he should be) if they knew she was concerned for his well being and sneakily keeping tabs on him? Ugh. Did this man know nothing of high school?!
"Good," she said, light and short.
But ah, Lochlan wasn't through yet.
"It is. With that out of the way, would you like to finally tell me why you were so concerned?"
That tone was leading, teasing her with its subtext and all too knowing haughty inflection. It made her blush on instinct. Annnnd back to the bottle she went.
"Nope," she said, turning her nose upward.
Cedric grinned in silence. Lochlan sighed in defeat.
"Very well," he said, and shifted in his spot. "...is there anything else I can do for you before bed?"
Sarah chortled.
"Oh, is there," she said, entirely to herself and with some truly mysterious manner of audacity. She started giggling then. Lochlan had never been more confused. Sensing the intensity of his furrowing brow, she calmed herself down and waved him off. "N-never mind. Ignore me."
She shook her head with a lingering grin, then reached out for three unopened bottles that were sitting on the table as she stood from her chair.
"Leaving already?" Cedric asked. Sarah hugged her bottles close.
"Of course. I'm off to have a grand adventure!" she said, trying to make a dramatic gesture of some sort and nearly losing her balance in the process. She laughed again, then clarified "—find my way back to my room..."
"Are you really going to drink all that?" Lochlan asked.
"Huh? No. Not tonight anyway. Just figured I'd stock up my room. Give that fancy decanting table in there purpose."
She turned on her heel and staggered away, stepping then scuttling then swaying in a manner that had Cedric laughing while Lochlan all but leapt to his feet.
"Let me escort you then—" Lochlan said, holding his hands out around her trying to figure out how, and if it would be okay, to even touch her. Sarah laughed at him, hiding not an ounce of her mockery as she raised a hand to hold him off.
"No. No. Some things a girl's gotta do on her own, don'tcha know." And she ginned at the floor like an imbecile. Lochlan stood uncertainly, and then she looked up at him with a challenging grin. "Unless, of course, you'd like to tuck me in?"
Lochlan was silent, eyes wide as he tried to figure out if she was being serious.
"Tell ya what, His Highness would rrreally loovvvee that!" she soon added, and then twirled away on her heel. Lochlan sighed to himself as she shook her head at nothing. "Pf. Stupid guy," she muttered, then walked away.
They watched her saunter to the doorway, then turn around to face them in dramatic fashion.
"Goodnight gentlemen! Adieu. Aufwiedersehen. Gesundheit. Farewell." She bowed with her bottles and giggled when they clanked. When she straightened, she took one step away, then jerked herself back onto the threshold. "Oh, hey, wait a minute. I wanted to ask you something—" she said, and pointed at Lochlan. "If I want to have some friends over, do I need, like...approval or something?" And then she raised both hands appeasingly. "I don't wanna step on anybody's toes here."
Lochlan, bewildered in a way he was not expecting to be tonight, darted his eyes left and right before responding.
"Ah...There are required criteria for goblins who enter the castle, actually. However, Merek has already added them —I assume you're referring to those three goblins you visited the other day?— to the sanctions list. They're free to come and go from the castle as you please."
He sounded rather businesslike, but that was fine. Sarah's face lit up with a smile wide enough for the both of them.
"Oh. Cool. Thanks."
No sooner was that persnickety word uttered, was she gone from sight. Lochlan stood dumbfounded, then blinked repeatedly as he turned around and faced Cedric.
"Well that was...interesting."
Cedric nodded.
"Oh, you have no idea."
Lochlan took a step forward, glancing back at the doorway with uncertainty.
"You look concerned," Cedric observed. "I'm surprised you're letting her go alone and not chasing her down the hall, proclaiming it unsafe."
Lochlan huffed and cracked a one-sided grin.
"She won't be in danger until she's in danger," he said, then turned his attention away from the door. "—and it won't matter if she's drunk, or alone, or anything."
He spoke the sentiment casually, and Cedric silently agreed. He watched Lochlan shrug and avert his eyes before going on.
"Besides, His Highness is outside of the castle at the moment, anyway..." His voice trailed off as his eyes rolled, coming round to fall on Cedric as his thoughts shifted. "Regardless, did you think it wise to allow her to drink like that?" he asked (with some displeasure). Cedric arched a brow.
"I didn't realize it was my place to allow her things," he replied. Lochlan arched a brow back. "Was it not your decree that we not interfere? She asked if there was anything left over from today. I said yes. The rest was her doing."
Lochlan rolled his eyes. Having his own words thrown back at him like that felt patronizing and —huh, was that why Jareth was always so grumpy?
"I just meant...that because she is still learning, she may have forgotten certain rules. She didn't say anything...inappropriate, did she?" Lochlan elaborated.
Cedric crossed his arms leisurely and shook his head.
"No. No, she did well to catch herself."
Lochlan's shoulders all but deflated with relief.
"Good," he replied.
"Well, actually…" A baiting playfulness drew out those words. Lochlan peered over at Cedric expectantly. "Now that you mention it, there was one thing she said that might be considered inappropriate." Cedric said that with a smile on his face, and casually took a seat at the table. Lochlan's brow furrowed, his attention all but snared, and he sat down as well. "Ah, but who would blame her? She was just so excited over what happened with His Highness at the party today—"
"What?" Lochlan cut him off, betrayed by his own excitement as he twitched and leaned forward despite himself. "She told you?"
Cedric leaned forward as well and wriggled his brow.
"And then some."
Lochlan's hands tightened to fists in anticipation, but Cedric only sat there grinning.
"Well?" Lochlan asked impatiently. "What happened?"
"Hm?" Cedric replied, feigning surprise. "Oh, I can't tell you that, My Lord." And he reclined in his chair while raising one proud pinky in the air. "I've been sworn."
The goblin by Lochlan's side (sitting at the table all the while) cracked a vicarious grin as it watched Cedric laugh while Lochlan scowled in frustration. Lochlan peered down, straight at it, intently.
"You heard it all as well?" he asked. The goblin nodded. "You know I'm going to have to wipe everything you've learned here tonight, right?" he asked further. Again, the goblin nodded. And then...a pause. "...would you like to tell me what the young lady said before I do so?"
A bit of cunning formed those words, amplified by an angled eyebrow and eagerly curling grin. Lochlan waited for the little thing to succumb to his charms. Surely, it would; it was a simple creature, and he was him. He was thus left both surprised and exasperated when instead the goblin, gaping up at him with large, unblinking eyes, quietly shook its head no.
Cedric snickered when Lochlan huffed then pushed away from the table with a dramatic, woe-is-me sigh.
Sarah bent forward, closing the door to her room with her butt as she glanced around and surveyed the space. The candelabras were already lit —but by who or what, she couldn't say.
The hearth in the right corner sparked to life on its own as she walked across the room towards her nifty little decanting table. It had a cupboard underneath, its closed doors concealing a wine wrack with space for twenty. Three would do for now, she told herself. Well...maybe two.
She kept one bottle for herself and popped the cork, leaving it to decant while she changed into her pajamas.
General Fostad had gifted her that abomination of a nightgown she'd worn at the garrison. She wore it once since then —out of obligation— on a night when all her other options were being mysteriously washed. Since that day never to be mentioned, it too had been cleaned —and now the blasted thing was back in her closet. She stared at it briefly before shoving it across the rack well out of sight, then reached for her trusty t-shirt and flannel shorts instead. Best to hang on to some form of normalcy while she still could, she told herself, and —oh, they smelled so fresh!
She only tripped once while dressing (just once, scout's honor), and tossed her heavy dress onto the floor. Wearing light, cheap, factory-made clothes gave her a feeling of relief and liberation, and she exhaled deeply because of it. Her wine should be ready now, she thought (shouldn't it?), so she headed back over and poured herself a glass.
She stared down at the flowing stream of red with a pout, the burgeoning silence provoking a highly undesired moment of introspection.
Why was she so determined to drink tonight?
Was she stressed?
Feeling rebellious?
Was Lochlan's passive disapproval making her feel guilty?
Pff. Why the hell was she looking for a reason, anyway? She was an emancipated college girl; she didn't need to justify a little self-indulgence!
Still, she was nearly frowning by the time her bottle gave its last gurgle, filling her cup and pulling away to be set back on the table. She'd talked tough and cracked a lot of jokes, but now that she was alone...
Maybe she was feeling guilty —not because she was an amoral young adult or anything, but because...she just couldn't stop wondering how Jareth was doing.
She didn't even realize she took the bottle with her when opening the door to her balcony and stepping outside.
She liked this part of her room. Perhaps even more than her spa. She'd spent several evenings just sitting, admiring the clarity of the Underground sky and wondering if all those twinkling stars above were the same ones Toby might also be looking up at.
It was a large, ovular space, rimmed by a stone railing about half her height, and jutting out at an elevation she was hesitant to guesstimate —she'd never been particularly afraid of heights, but neither was she too eager to test it.
In addition to the rolling hills of forest that painted her view, she also overlooked the goblin city and labyrinth beyond. As dusk turned to night, she would watch street lamps and candle-lit windows flicker to life, gaze upon the shadows of miniature folk going about their lives, and see the meandering glow of lanterns and torches as a straggling few went about their way. The unstifled quietude also carried with it even the faintest sound, and so she would hear, from time to time, a distant echo of laughter or crackle of carriage wheel over cobblestone. It was a nice bit of solitude. Peaceful.
There was a round table and two chairs placed against the exterior wall of the castle. They were framed by her window, intimately illuminated by a warm backlight. She placed her bottle and glass on the table, then took a seat.
She drew up her legs and reclined leisurely, gazing at the moon as she debated whether or not to grab herself a blanket. It was a little cooler than expected. …maybe not the best idea to have worn shorts.
Still, it felt nice. Her face was heated from the alcohol, so she welcomed the subtle breeze. It was a cloudy night, but the moon was exceptionally bright and painted them in perfect clarity. Billowed, cotton waves of blue moved across the heavens, weighed by a contrast of black shadow that gave such landscape a truly vivid might.
She reached for her wine glass and took a tiny sip, and she thought, with some ease, that it was difficult to feel bothered while gazing at a sight like that. A few minutes passed. She felt the buzz in her cheeks begin to lull — and then something flew straight through her Underground Sublime.
A black silhouette cut across the moon, capturing her attention with its fluid movement and gentle flapping of wings. Her brow drew together as she focused on it, as it glided closer and she realized it wasn't black at all.
An owl?
Oh...
Oh.
Feeling a flare of excitement, Sarah found herself on her feet before she knew it, taking a few careful steps across the balcony. By the time she made it halfway to the railing, he was gone, lost in shadows and the perfect silence of the night.
She frowned as she stood there, staring up at the moon, and wondered if he had any idea she was even there. This was not the first time she'd seen him soaring at night, and in every instance she noted the way he never looked towards her. She didn't take this personally, however. He didn't even know where her room was until a few days ago, so…
But did he realize it now?
A part of her romanticized that he did, that he flew this way on all those other nights purposefully —to let her know that he was close —that she wasn't always as alone as she seemed. But, of course, even in her stupor she knew better than to entertain that kind of delusion for more than a second or two. The reality was thus: he was facing straight ahead, focused on something, anything, other than whether or not her window was flickering with candlelight.
She stood there without gratification for a full minute, and was about to walk away when she saw him again. He was circling back —far, but not too far. She scowled as she tried to get a clear look at him. The clouds made him hard to track, and it seemed like he was only getting farther away. She wondered what he was doing, if maybe he was looking for something.
Unknowingly or not, her hopes perked when he glided towards the castle. He passed by her again, closer than before. She caught a glimpse of the gold dapples on his wings, and was so distracted by that, that she was completely oblivious to the moment he turned his head and looked straight at her.
That moment seemed to slow down in real time. She thanked the booze for that. She blinked, shifting her attention from the eerie glow of his feathers to the stony black of his eyes. Their gazes locked, and, despite the distance between them, the unexpected contact unnerved her immediately. She felt her bare toes curl against the cold stone floor, and could do little more than raise her hand and wave.
It was a moment that felt awkward even as it happened, but it was too late. She stood there, waving in slow motion like an idiot, holding his stare even as he continued to fly by and out of sight.
Sarah's fingers curled. Oh. …okay. He was gone again. Just like that. She looked around, pursed her lips, then teetered onto her toes. Should I….should I wait?
She was almost startled when the owl suddenly, and silently, glided in out of nowhere to land on the railing directly in front of her.
Sarah bit her lip. She might have been hoping, but really hadn't expected him to come to her so soon. And this was him, wasn't it? Not some random bird? Or worse, another fae?
She stood tentatively when it tilted its head at her and shuffled its feathers, bobbing low and up again as if inspecting her. In that brief second, she recalled the way he'd felt pressed up against her when she kissed him, the way he'd held her by the hair so tightly, and the forcefulness with which he'd responded...
And he was a bird now. Oh God. She was drunk, and realizing at the complete wrong moment that she'd kind of made out, feverishly, with a bird.
"Hi," she said, like a little mouse.
He said nothing —which she thought would be obvious, but...upon second thought, her brain argued that talking animals would actually be one of the least surprising things about this place. With that in mind, she braced herself for a deep and well enunciated how do you do?
Alas, he was silent. Sarah waited a beat, and then walked towards him steadily, using all her faculty to do so, and stood next to him at the edge of the balcony. He was near the level of her shoulder now —a lot smaller close up than she realized.
He tilted his head in the other direction now, wide black eyes peering up at her with thoughts indiscernible to her.
He was upset when they'd last spoken. Angry. Restrained. It made her tentative to interact, but...Lochlan said he was fine. He must have calmed himself down. Spent the remainder of the day meditating, maybe.
As it was, the adorable little bird gaping up at her now made her question whether or not it really was just an owl. Surely, if it was him, he was totally unaware of himself. Majestic predator of the night —yeah, sure. Should she tell him what a quibbly-eyed little puffball he actually was? Would that offend him? But what if this was just a quibbly-eyed puffball, and the majestic predator was still out there stalking?
Only one way to tell, she supposed.
She reached out to pet it, half expecting to be bitten or aggressively flapped at. Surprisingly, it did nothing of the sort, and merely stood there while her fingers lightly caressed the top of its head. Sarah paused, caught unawares by how soft it was, and then resumed more eagerly. It was odd. She'd never touched a bird before. It was...surprisingly delicate.
Unwittingly, the tip of her index finger traced down the circular form of its face. It allowed her, so she thought to push her luck a little further by scratching the tufts of feathers under its chin.
It endured, stoically, and she knew for sure from that alone that it was him. She laughed softly to herself, then pulled her hand away.
"Fancy seeing you here," she said. It blinked. She stepped back and glanced up at the sky. "Fly here often?"
Her grin cocked on one side, but her humor went unvalidated. It merely took a step to the side and puffed up its feathers a bit.
A slight, but sudden, gust of breeze swept by. Sarah crossed her arms and rubbed them to rid them of the cold.
"I'm having myself a little pity party over there," she said and gestured back to the table with a thumb. "Would you like to join me?"
She watched him lean around her to look at the table in question, but any kind of response he may have given was a mystery to her.
"Is that a yes?" she asked. He did nothing. "No?" She winced a little and fought off any awkwardness that might try to steal her gusto, puffing up and then exhaling roughly before crossing her arms tighter. "Alright. How about I make you a deal?" she asked, and he drew back from her when she leaned down to be at his level. "I promise not to make out with you again—" and she grinned playfully. "—if you promise not to run away."
One of her brows arched, and it could be described as challenging and provocative and mocking all at once. He blinked at her again, remaining still when she then straightened and coyly turned her back on him. "Up to you," she said with a little pep in her voice that moved into her step as she casually walked away.
He watched her recede —watched her hips sway in a manner that unabashedly drew attention to the curve of her bare legs. His eyes flickered down to her slender ankles and back up again despite himself. She was not going to wait for an answer. He could fly away if he wanted to—
Sarah grinned slyly to herself at the gentle woosh at her back, and the sound of billowing fabric and footsteps soon followed. So, that was a yes, then? Oh, he might have been a bird, yes —but still a man.
She sat down in one of the chairs without acknowledging him, sitting cross-legged and reclining leisurely. He took the chair beside her, staring her down intently all the while.
She exhaled and looked up at the moon, her cheek creasing in profile with a faint smile of repose.
"So, what were you doing?" she asked.
Jareth looked away from her.
"Flying," he replied.
Sarah blinked, taking note of his tone and the very guarded aura now looming towards her. He sounded a little terse. She wanted to look over at him, but…
"I've seen you flying before," she said, calmly. "It's...oddly comforting."
Jareth looked over again, his brow drawing together. Sensing it, she hugged her knees with her arms and turned towards him.
"It makes me feel safe."
Their eyes locked. She'd done so on purpose. It was dark, but his marks looked normal —a glittery, smoky blue. That helped relax her a bit.
The boldness of her stare caught him off guard even more than her words, his look on her growing more intense before breaking from it and turning his head away.
He stared outward at nothing for a moment. She thought...he looked a little lost.
"It's...nice," he eventually said. "It helps...to clear my head."
Sarah rested her cheek on her knees and frowned. So, she was right. He'd been meditating. That...made her sad. It seemed all he did was try to clear his head. Distract himself. Keep calm. She recalled the way he'd looked just before vanishing earlier that day, the way it seemed like something was literally screaming in his ear. Cedric's words came back to her and she wondered...what it was that he was really going through.
"I bet," she said, keeping her tone light in hopes that he would look over again. "I can only imagine what it's like to fly through such a calm, night sky."
Her voice was soft, pacifying. Was she speaking so on purpose? He couldn't help but glance over again just as she released her knees and sat up straight. He watched her reach for her glass, and then her eyes shot up at him.
"Oh. How rude. Would you like a drink?" she asked.
Jareth considered. She could tell by the way his attention flickered to her wine glass and back up again. She tilted her head a little, patient yet encouraging. For a moment, she expected him to say no. The last drinks they shared had ended...badly. So, she liked to think it was her preemptive pout that swayed him when he instead uttered a skeptical, "...sure."
She ginned and stood promptly from her chair. Vertigo hit her, but she played it off well.
"Great. I'll go get a second glass."
She scampered around the doorframe into her room, and he noted the way she held onto the edge of the wall for support as she did so. From the moment she approached him, he could smell the waft of alcohol on her. It made her smile stretch and curl wantonly. Made her cheeks hum pink despite the blue veil of night. It glazed over her eyes, made them round and wilting, sparkling brightly with the reflection of the moon. He was unwise to accept her invitation, he knew this. It was unwise to indulge her fancy when so much of her skin was exposed. He should just leave now while her back was turned, but…
She came back quickly and thumped down into her seat, thinking herself graceful as she carefully poured his glass. Her legs curled under her as she sat at an angle, exposed to him beyond the round of the small table between them. His eyes trailed along the arch of her foot up to the shadow cast by her loosely fitted shorts.
"Here," she said, and he accepted. "I don't know if this will be to your liking. It's certainly no gut-burning vintage, but...I think it tastes nice." She bobbed her head to herself and took a sip, then clicked her tongue and stared down into the bowl. "Yeah. I definitely prefer sweet." And she paused to take a deeper sip. "Cedric gave me some fancy Moscato to try next. It's pink."
"Are you a fan of spirits?" Jareth asked.
One of Sarah's brows quirked up, and she looked over at him with a lazy smile.
"Oh, haven't you heard?" she asked, then re-crossed her legs while slouching towards him in her seat. "I'm going to become a connoisseur. You know, travel the world, dabble in all its tastes and fragrances, develop a tragic dependency and die of liver cirrhosis at age forty-five." Then her head tilted back to accommodate the longest sip yet. "—It's going to be great."
She set her glass down and pinched it by the stem, using it as an anchor as she shifted about in her chair. She curled her legs up now, and stared out at the moon. The bright, silver light of night lit up her face perfectly, a sleek highlight catching on her hair that fell straight down over her shoulders. He admired that view for a moment, then looked away as he slouched back and took a sip from his glass.
"You wouldn't die," he said. Sarah looked over. "—I would heal you first."
Sarah stared over at him with a brow furrowed by surprise before a pleasant grin formed. He was staring outward, looking stern and broody as he spoke into his cup, all draped in black and glittering with rainbowed tones that revealed for her just enough of the shape of his torso for her subconscious to take over and elicit an appreciative hum. He did not catch onto her ogling, however, which she found even more adorable.
"Aw. You big softy," she said, grinning wider on one side. Jareth peered over from his peripheral. "Can you cure diabetes too?" she asked. "—because that would be fantastic."
Jareth lowered his glass to his lap.
"Are you ill?" he asked.
Sarah, still staring at him stupidly —now with a cheek resting on the heel of her hand as she leaned over the table— blinked out of her daze without the least bit of discretion.
"Hm? Oh. No. I was just thinking about the long-term effects of the food here," she clarified. "It's delicious, but...extremely unhealthy."
"I could cure you of any ailment," Jareth said, his eyes rolling away briefly "—if Lochlan's feat with your father is proof enough."
If that last bit was grumbled rather than spoken, it went well over Sarah's head. She leaned up from her hand, staring intensely at nothing as the gears turned.
"Huh...I never thought about that," she said, then looked straight at him with a smile that was still unsure of itself. "Wow. More truffles for me then." She shifted her legs again and then shook her head subtly to herself. "It's amazing that your people can do things like that so easily. Kind of makes my world and all its plights seem...small."
Jareth drank slowly as he watched her, then set his glass down on the table.
"It's not easy," he corrected. "But...I understand your sentiment."
Sarah tilted her head as she formed her next question.
"If you can do so much with magic...why hasn't anyone helped the Above?"
Jareth arched a brow and inclined his head towards her.
"The plights of your world are not our responsibility."
"No, I know," she quickly replied, changing directions. "I guess that's not what I meant. I mean...has no one made a wish like that? Formed a contract? I feel like...curing humanity of its most aggressive health conditions would be...ya know, up there."
She spoke with her hands at a spectral figure in front of her. Jareth's gaze flickered down and then fell into his lap.
"Great feats come with great cost," he said, cryptically, anticipating her stare and glancing over just in time to catch it. "Look what you gave up to cure one human. Now, imagine the kind of pact you would have to make to cure them all. No one, in any world, is truly generous. Their cost will always outweigh such gain."
Sarah frowned. That response was ominous and vague, but somewhere in her gut she understood. She didn't ask him to elaborate, taking the time to deliberate on her own instead, and decided that such topics were not fit for the preferred atmosphere.
"...I guess that's true," she said, and took a quiet sip of her drink. A few moments passed in silence, then she lowered her glass from her mouth and lightly tapped the bowl. "Can I ask you a question?" Jareth looked over. Interpreting his expression as something other than neutral, she felt her brows knit with sudden skepticism. "You...don't have to answer it, though," she added. Jareth did not reply, but rather stared at her expectantly. She couldn't gauge it, and pressed her tongue to the backs of her teeth while fidgeting in her seat. "Did I...do something wrong today?"
She watched him shift (or at least she thought she did) and looked away from him defensively.
"A random tangent, I know—" she prattled, shrugging in a preemptive attempt to keep the mood light. "—But I've had, I think...at least five glasses of wine already. So, bear with me."
She smiled awkwardly and tried to keep her eyes averted. She failed, and peered over at him with a slight tension on her brow. Jareth thought she looked worried, and it was an expression that frustrated him. He looked away, low and to the side, and compulsively took up his glass again to hide his scowl behind the rim of it.
"No," he muttered, feigning a greater interest in his drink. "...not really."
"It's just…" Sarah went on, brow furrowed tightly with ambivalence as she observed him. "—with the way you were teasing me about the fountain, I thought...those actions might not be...totally unwelcomed—"
"It wasn't about our actions. …not implicitly, at least," he cut her off, lowering his glass and staring down into it. Sarah watched attentively. "It was about...control." He sounded uncomfortable while saying that —his tight frown a clear enough indicator. Sarah sat quietly, waiting for him to continue. "When I was channeling magic through you...those were behaviors I controlled," he explained, his hand slowly tensing in his lap. "I set the pace. I knew when to stop. But...when you acted so suddenly…" and she watched a tick flash across his brow. "I was caught off guard. I don't do well when I am...caught off guard." He paused and looked over at her, his expression stern and searching. "There are times...certain circumstances...when I don't know how to stop. That's why I left you with the sentinel..."
Introspection made his voice fade off, the look in his eye distracted and distant. Sarah regarded everything about that profile: his half-cast gaze, the tension at the corner of his mouth, the angle of his brow as it drew towards the center. Bangs fell messily over his face, very nearly catching on his upper lashes as he blinked slowly out at the stone floor of the balcony. Whatever it was he was thinking, it made her want to reach out and touch him. She didn't, however. Not this time.
"Oh," she said with a frown. "I'm...sorry. I really didn't mean to upset you—"
Jareth shook his head and smiled incredulously.
"You didn't upset me," he retorted, carrying that grin on one side while turning to look over at her. They crossed gazes, and she watched as his flickered low down her person. Their eyes locked when he looked back up again, however, freezing her on the spot when he quietly uttered the words, "...far from it."
Sarah gulped. His voice was gentle just then. Lowered. It matched the soft grin he was still giving her. Was that...provocative? Heartfelt? No? Fuck, she couldn't tell. She could, however, feel her own eyes widen as she regarded a certain kind of twinkle on his and —Uh oh. UH OH.
She actually grabbed her face as she turned sharply away, hiding both her feverish blush and awkward-ass smile as she beamed outward at the equitable night.
"Good. That's good," she said, playing the simpleton as she dragged that stupid hand of hers down and away from her face. She even laughed at the end. Laughed.
Oh dear God, save me… she pleaded internally. Two seconds passed. Two seconds and her blush not only exponentially worsened, but was now physically hot. She could actually feel the mortification and giddiness and lack of inhibition blooming across her drunk face, making it impossible to show any kind of savvy. Oh God, he was going to make fun of her. All she could do was look away. Alcohol, how could you? she lamented. To betray me at a time like this is just cruel. Cruel, I tell you!
Of course, this state of utter despair lasted only a fraction of a second in actual time, and she gulped it all back down not too soon and not too late for him to notice it. She licked her lips, finding composure but not exactly confidence, and aggressively shifted the conversation by saying,
"So, um...I learned a little something today."
She had yet to look over at Jareth. She could not bear it just yet. Instead, she waited on the over-analyzation of his potentially impish, "Oh?"
"Mhm," she replied, nodding in the complete opposite direction of him. "I learned the difference between a common and an arc peryton. Apparently those are real?" In an act of self sabotage, she impulsively peered over when he did not readily respond. It was an action she regretted immediately, but it was too late. She carried herself as stiff as a plank, and he….he just nodded. "Have...have you ever seen one?" she asked, guardedly.
Jareth held her flighty stare with just a hint of mockery. He had no idea what had made her so unfettered just now, but her shameless behavior was getting difficult to politely ignore. She looked like she was about to run away, or, better yet, leap clear off the balcony —maybe even smack him with her bottle along the way. The idea made him grin on the side she couldn't see as he looked away from her, showing considerable mercy —he presumed— by the way she audibly exhaled in relief.
"Yes," he responded, candidly. "Once. A long time ago."
His cool tone had its effect. She relaxed and sat more naturally as she turned towards him.
"Huh. Only once? Hm...Cedric says they're rare."
Jareth arched a brow, quickly counting over the number of times he'd heard the name Cedric spoken on her lips.
"They are," he agreed, then peered back from his peripheral to rake his eyes down her. "Do you speak with Cedric often?"
He caught her with her eyes averted, which completely nullified his rather intimidating drop in tenor. She wasn't fully paying attention, slouching over the table again with her cheek pressed to the heel of her hand as she mused up at the stars.
"Kind of," she responded, completely oblivious to his attitude. "He's pretty cool —seems to be the only one who's not a cliquey ass...aside from Miri, I guess. She's pretty objective. But yeah, I guess I see him more than the others. The rest of the castle is just so boring. I like hanging out with the goblins in the kitchen."
She spoke bluntly, her unguarded mannerisms painting her with a near childlike naivety. He'd felt a twinge of displeasure just now, but...it seemed this was a topic she felt no shame towards, which he supposed...was enough for him to let it go.
"Are you not fitting in?" he asked.
Sarah rolled her eyes dramatically.
"I don't know. Maybe. They're forcing themselves, at the least." And then she rolled her eyes towards him. "I'm not exactly a people person. I can do without the fake pleasantries."
Jareth huffed through his nose, amused and half-heartedly fighting off a grin. It seemed she'd returned to her original, brazen mood —staring at him directly with bored, glassy eyes and a slight sneer on her lip. And to think, he'd felt a moment of jealousy over such a thing. A tug of possessiveness as groundless as the platform they lounged on. She was hardly his, he told himself, and she should stay that way.
"Agreed," Jareth said, and casually glanced away. "That said, you'll do terribly at court."
Sarah cocked a brow as she stared at him. He was facing straight ahead, but...but he was blurry. She readjusted her focus, but nothing changed. That was new. Hm. She was getting the suspicion...that maybe her spring of panic and butterflies had sped up her pulse just a little too much...
"But I'm not at court," she said, playfully enunciating the words so that he would look over again. He did, and she regarded him with wide, unblinking eyes as she added, "I'm here. With you."
Their eyes were locked. Jareth felt the pull of it. His jaw tightened, but he didn't know why. She just stared at him so directly. Always. And each time it caught him more and more off guard. She was not the least bit wary of herself or anything, and he thought —fleetingly in that brief moment— that Lochlan was right. He coveted that look. He liked the feeling it gave him. He did not want it to change, for her to change, ever.
So, he did not speak. He did not correct her and enlighten her on how ignorant and foolhardy and tragic she was. No, instead he kept dead silent. He watched selfishly as that look he admired eventually came to glaze over and pass through him. He watched her hand slouch and her head tilt to the side, but, despite that wayward glimmer, he knew it was a look of focus, of thought, and it cut straight through him.
"What?" he asked. Sarah grinned lazily.
"I was just...thinking."
"Of?"
"Your marks…" she said, and shifted her hand to her chin. "...they're really pretty."
Those words hit him in a way she wasn't expecting them to, and she watched as he reflexively scowled and blinked. He looked...confused. But— no, it was more than that. She sat up straighter when he looked away from her, perhaps trying to hide the flash of black that flared around his eyes just then.
"What's wrong?" she asked, but he would not look at her. She leaned around slightly to try and get a better view, but could only see brusque rigidity tightening the muscle in his jaw. It was the same look he'd tried to hide from her before —insecurity, ambivalence, shame. It made her sad that she had a better understanding of it now. "Do...you not hear that often?" she asked.
She caught the flash of a nasty smile on his profile before he huffed and replied,
"Not really. No."
Sarah frowned. His apprehension right now was the real shame.
"Well...you shouldn't look away," she said, speaking softly and reaching out across the table to lightly pluck at his sleeve. He peered back reluctantly, but she clung to it, giving him a reassuring smirk when she spoke the words, "...because I mean it."
The way he looked at her in reaction was every definition of the term guarded. To her relief, the black shade she'd seen had left as soon as it had appeared, so his eyes were still that same, sultry blue. Admiring such did nothing to help the situation, however, so she could only frown. She pinched the leather of his jacket between her two fingers, then hesitantly pulled away as thoughts from her conversation with Cedric came to mind —not so much about what his affliction was, but instead what it meant.
He was the prince, and he was strong and proud and deceptively kind. He was the future of his kingdom, and that future...was now cloaked in shadows. It was detached from the rest of the world and left to be forgotten. The people here did not merely fear him...they had ostracized him. She could tell he was fighting something, and fighting it hard, and, as she tried and tried to form some sort of connection with him, she just couldn't stand...how alone in it he seemed.
Jareth sensed something of sentiment boring into him through the strength of her gaze, and it tightened in his throat. He felt his ears flex as he swallowed, trying to look away; but, every time his eyes managed to shift, they would just dart right back to hers. She thought his markings were pretty? She meant it? Why did that offend him? Why did that make him…
Under the refuge of blackest night, she shone. She was pretty. She was defenseless, and waiting, and beautiful because, above all, she was unequivocally careless. Victim to such unabashed scrutiny, he felt the sudden urge to speak, to divulge to her his most pathetic of demons and rid from her that look and that curiosity and that much agonized air of objectivity that he found himself now clinging to like the smallest of cretins.
He wanted to tell her. He wanted her to be safe, but...what if she stopped looking at him like that?
In the end, he was what he was, and was even less generous than the failed martyrs and heroes and cowards and fiends. He pushed it all down, along with the faint pressure behind his eyes, and looked away sternly.
"...You're an odd creature," he said, the words short and low. Sarah, unaware of the depth of his thoughts, regarded the stoic wall rising between them at face value.
"Am I?" she asked, inflecting a trace amount of amusement into the question that only made it sad. Jareth's brow twitched in puzzlement.
"Are you not bothered by this afternoon?" he asked. Sarah leaned to the side and then pushed away from the table.
"Ah...no?" she replied, then shrugged. "Not anymore, anyway." And she reached for the wine bottle. "That's what this was for."
He peered over at her as she shook the bottle by the neck. A light sloshing could be heard at the bottom, which then stole her attention. "Oh. Looks like we're empty," she said, feigning chipperness as she latched onto any manner of deflection and stood from her chair. Awkwardness was slow to follow her; but follow, it did. She hesitated for one second too long, and then smiled impulsively. "I'll, uh...go grab another..."
She clutched the empty bottle with both hands and turned on her heel. Jareth watched her take a few determined steps, and then the vertigo hit her.
Sarah realized, far too late, that standing so abruptly while drinking was a freshman-grade mistake. All that serious talk had made her forget her stupor, but it hadn't left. Oh, now it came barreling tenfold straight to her inner ear as the world suddenly spun and sent her stumbling straight, or to the side, or into the wall, or maybe the doorway—
She didn't even have time to gasp. She simply closed her eyes and braced. She expected there to be pain, to be something hard and rough like a brick or two chafing the skin of her temple. Instead, she fell into leather. Something soft but firm, and clutching her back fiercely.
She opened her eyes and blinked, but the world was still spinning. She staggered, leaning into Jareth despite his efforts to straighten her to her feet. Vision was a privilege for the next several seconds, but she felt the strength in his arms holding her up, felt the muscle of his bicep flexing beneath that thick leather sleeve. Her free hand, bracing against his chest, felt his heart beating surprisingly quick. She'd forgotten how cold she'd been, curled up in her chair in such little clothing. The heat of his body reminded her of it, however. Flooded her. Made her shiver—
She gulped and wetted her lips, finally regaining some control as her vision settled and her legs found balance. She leaned away from him, blinking downward furiously in mortification.
She could hear him breathing. Like he'd been startled. Like she'd scared him.
"There you go being a damsel again."
She peered up when he spoke, eyes inadvertently widened against his curling grin. He was teasing her, she knew that, yet the force in his hands around her arms spoke differently. The way he looked down at her, the way his chest moved beneath his jacket, it was—
A sizzle of nerves hit her and brought her fully into the moment. She glanced away in a fluster, looking so shy while tucking her hair behind her ear.
"You've got some quick reflexes there, don't you?" she asked, trying to play it all off humorously. She pushed away from him a little more, distantly remarking on the way he was hesitant to let go. He did, and she...regretted it. "...sorry," she said compulsively, eyes daring to look up at him. "I just...got really dizzy. I think...it's hitting me harder now. Heh, I must be more drunk than I realized."
"You're a human," Jareth said, eyeing her intently. "And a slight one. Five glasses, at the least, will do that."
Sarah looked away and laughed awkwardly. Being so close to him so suddenly had completely thrown her off her groove. His familiar smell had since reached her, too. Damn him. Damn all his clothes, too.
She went to step around him and enter her room, but noticeably swayed. Jareth reached out and grasped her by the elbow, helping her along in a manner that felt too surreal to be properly acknowledged.
"I think...maybe I should sit down," she said, staring at the floor all the while. She'd ended up gripping his sleeve for support again, she noticed. When did that happen? Oh God. She was about to lose all kinds of faculty, wasn't she?
Her bed was the closest thing to them. Jareth sat her down on the edge. And Sarah, poor, unfortunate Sarah, did not have nearly enough coherence left to realize the level of romantic cliché that was now actively befalling her, and only blinked to herself slowly as much begrudged lethargy crept in.
Jareth watched her eyes close in an odd manner as she swayed.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
Sarah blinked herself awake.
"Um...yeah. I just...got really tired just now…"
She closed her eyes again. Jareth scowled.
"You shouldn't fall asleep right now."
"I know," she said, shaking her head to try and wake herself up. It didn't exactly work. Now the room was spinning again. "Um...I'll go for a walk then. Clear my head a little."
She pressed a hand to her temple and stood, leaning forward but catching herself before falling. Jareth held onto her regardless.
"That will be even worse," he said.
Sarah, sensing a bit of disapproval in that tone of his, suffered a typical fit of bullheadedness which compelled her to promptly defy him.
"It'll be fine," she said, swatting him off as she staggered away. She managed to get a few feet ahead in a straight line, and then stopped to look back at him. "What? You not coming?" she asked. Jareth looked...perturbed. Sarah disregarded it entirely. "Fine, suit yourself. I'll go on my own." And she turned back around with a wave. "Hold down the fort, will ya?"
Jareth grumbled as he watched her make a fool of herself, moving with crossed steps across her room towards the door. A part of him urged caution. It was ill-advised to be with her alone and inebriated to begin with, but now…
His eyes widened on instinct when she nearly fell into the door again, and, before he had time to regret it, found himself standing close and holding her up once more.
Sarah eeped! from the sudden surprise of being captured, unaware that she was, apparently, on the verge of crashing again. She looked up at Jareth in a startle, who actually growled at her in frustration. He'd caught the door as it swung open as well, and held it open for her lest she impale herself on that too. In addition to his obvious vexation, Sarah noticed (by the way her hands curled back against his chest) that he was even a bit puffed up.
Oh?
Oh, ho ho…
Sarah, perfectly attuned to his foul mood and yet interpreting it in the complete opposite manner that it was intended, drew back with a flirtatiously arched brow and pursed her lips coyly.
"Hm? Very well then," she said, facetiously demure, and leaned onto him. Jareth braced, which was good. She groped her hands around his upper arm tightly as he did so.
She pulled on him as she took a step forward, openly pleased with herself when he obliged and stepped with her. He was silent, of course, but that was fine. She grinned like a fool whilst leading him aimlessly down the hall.
She staggered with misplaced steps, moving in a serpentine motion which Jareth did his best to manage. She kept pushing into him every few paces, hanging onto his arm like she was trying to drag him down with her. It kept him standing stiff.
"Well...this is nice," she eventually said. Jareth glanced down from the corner of his eye. "A little dark...but who needs a guiding light when the walls are made of brick?" She shrugged and stumbled, and he jerked her back into place, bringing her to a halt in the middle of the pitch-black hall. For him, their surroundings were dark but still visible. He forgot she wouldn't be able to see anything at all.
Sarah drew back and looked up at where she presumed he was, blinking attentively when a soft glow of light suddenly came forth in front of her face.
The light grew steadily, and she realized he was holding it in the palm of his hand. The light then solidified, gaining the smooth surface of a crystal. Her eyes blinked quickly in the effort to refocus, watching silently as it turned in his hand and formed many others. Without explanation, the crystals then lifted from his hand. Her eyes followed them, and she remarked —in that quick moment— a peculiar delight she caught in Jareth's eye as the light from the crystals cast over him.
They spread outward in a geometric formation that Sarah wasn't competent enough to recognize, and then abruptly zoomed away down both ends of the hall.
Clinging to his sleeve, Sarah drew back and looked ahead. The ethereal glow of each crystal seemed to lag as they moved through the air, slowing, before coming to nestle within the husks of dead sconces that lined the walls down each side of the hall.
Despite the lack of ceremony, Sarah stared with a look of awe that Jareth did not regard. The entire hall was perfectly illuminated now, making her wonder just how far it went. She looked up at Jareth again, but he was still staring ahead —inspecting his work, it seemed.
"Well, would ya look at that," she said, grinning widely as she peered around. "Neato."
She pulled him forward again without proposition, her attention transfixed to the white light of magic that hovered within every sconce as they passed by. They carried on in silence for several minutes, Sarah's eyes gradually drooping as the alcohol took more and more effect with every step.
"You smell good," she murmured, unsure of whether it was just a thought, and then quirked a brow when she mulled that thought over. "Actually, you always smell good. Really good." Jareth peered down as she spoke, watching the way her brows lifted up her forehead like that was an observation to be surprised about. "It's not fair."
The sound of her voice made its way back to her, and she impulsively Pff'd before laughing at herself. And it was loud —obnoxious, really. It echoed down the hall to the point where she covered her own mouth in a failed attempt to stop it. He watched the way her fingers curled under her nose as she giggled, as her cheeks, no longer distorted by the light of the moon, burned a bright pink. A laugh line creased her cheek even as the sound faded, and her brow angled down in a way that he would describe as dreamy. Then her hand lowered. He could see her completely. She stood closely beside him and grinned so happily at nothing at all, and it was a sight so soothing, he felt the bizarre urge to grin as well—
She stopped walking abruptly and turned to face him.
"Hey, guess what else I learned," she asked/commanded —there was hardly an inflection in that supposed question. Jareth stood tall and angled his head down. She was leaning against him again, pressing her weight onto her hands that were now wedged firmly between their two chests. Her head was tipped back sharply, and she stared upward at him with an intimacy that he hoped (for her own good) she was unaware of.
Perhaps that question was rhetorical, for she did not wait for an answer. Instead, she looked down and marginally pushed herself off of him. There was space for her hands to move now, and he felt them brush over his chest, feeling along the seam of his jacket before groping a little more forcefully. He merely stood there and watched, confused yet intrigued by the way she then frowned deeply in disappointment.
"Something wrong?" he asked, darkly.
Sarah ignored his taunting and glared fiercely at the series of metal buttons before her, cursing them with far more disdain than she had those four tassels untied. He was buttoned right up now, wasn't he? —looking like a big black wall with that tattered cape hanging over his shoulders. Alas, she'd come too far to turn back now. Her hands were already there and...oh, look how easy that button popped open!
Sarah's lower lip curled over her teeth as she lowered her hands to the next button. She never responded to his question, and hardly even acknowledged he was the thing lurking beneath those buttons. To her fondling fingers, he was like a toy —a thought that he probably should not have entertained with her so close and looking like that. There was focus in her heated eyes, determination, and eagerness. Jareth stood silently with a darkening gaze as he admired it.
A steady interval of light snaps was all to be heard as tension released and the halves of his jacket steadily opened down his chest. She stopped halfway down, however, and he watched her attentively for whatever she had planned next.
She spread open his jacket, and then searched him with her eyes. He arched a brow when her lips pursed. Still disappointed, he noted. Still determined.
She reached for the neckline of his shirt next, running the pads of her fingers down the light material before loosening a new procession of ties.
One.
Two.
Three.
…and four.
The tips of each index finger traced the edges of his shirt, moving downward towards his sternum as mysterious thoughts clouded her gaze. His breathing was steady. He was conscious of it. In silence, she spread open the halves of his shirt, too, her eyes seared to his bared chest and completely unaware of the way her delicate fingers inched underneath his shirt to touch him. Jareth was aware, however. Even more so of his own heartbeat as her hands lightly grazed over the muscle there.
She looked lost in thought as she stared. Jareth could feel his hands threatening to grasp her by the waist. Her lower lip was rounded. He tilted his head slowly...
"Aw," she randomly spoke, pulling him from the moment. He came back to attention to see she was pouting. "You're not wearing the necklace."
Jareth blinked, realizing from her frank tone and childish expression that seducing him had been the last thing on her mind. The epiphany was so asinine, he nearly laughed —reflexively grinning on one side as he arched a brow and flickered his eyes down.
"Ah. Is that what you're doing? Looking for that?" he asked, provocatively. Sarah, well protected behind the wall of ignorance her drunken stupor provided, scowled in frustration.
"Yeah. I wanted to tell you that I learned it's from your family crest," she said. Oh, such innocence. His smile widened.
"You just did," he pointed out. Sarah rolled her eyes and tilted her head.
"Okay, but I wanted a visual aid."
She sounded vexed. It was cute. Jareth's smile reached his eyes as he noted the way her fingers continued to tap against his chest.
He glanced down at one of his hands as he raised it between them, uncurling a closed fist as if to offer her something. Sarah blinked, slow to fathom the necklace now coiled on his palm and the fact that he'd just conjured it literally out of nowhere.
"It's not from the crest," he clarified, angling his hand towards her so she was prompted to take it. "This symbol existed long before it."
Sarah's eyes kept darting between him and the pendant while he spoke, clutching it possessively in both hands. This one was gold, shining brilliantly even in the soft light. She marveled at it for a moment, turning it this way and that in her hands.
"Oh, I see," she said, watching her fingertips trace the strange, swirly symbol in its center. She was quiet for a moment —ruminating by the look of it— and then gradually tilted her head to the side. "Jareth…" she mumbled, baitingly. "It's the other way around on your crest. So...which way is up?"
She turned it around in her hands like trying to solve a puzzle. Jareth's grin lulled.
"Depends...on how you choose to look at it," he said.
Sarah paused. The softened tone of his voice had caught her attention. She peered up, but he was still peering down, staring through the weighty piece of metal she held between them. A very brief moment of clarity hit her, and in it she understood him. She understood that look and those reservations and the quiet that followed. She hummed in response, but that was all.
A moment passed and, oddly, she found herself smirking without purpose, admiring him in all that fine stoicism, and did not think twice before reaching up to drape the necklace over his head. He let her do so, his eyes slyly shifting to her wrists as she carefully pulled his hair free from the cord.
She took her time, running her hand through one thick tendril, then another, and laying each over his shoulders. Her attention was fixed on those pale, blond strands, eyes moving low as they followed the movement of her hands.
And he watched her. He watched her eyes roam about his own self so closely, and was free to engrave the finer details of those mossy-green irises, and that sharp upper lip, and the small dapples of freckles that painted the bridge of her nose into the deepest well of his memory. There was a beauty mark above her upper lip. He'd seen it before, but...
She ceased her petting without him realizing, bringing her attention directly to him and the deathly small space between them.
By the time he noticed the particular look in her eye, it turned hazy. It honed in on his, then flickered down as her jaw clenched.
"Hmm…" she murmured, contemplatively, as she lowered her hands and gripped the halves of his jacket. His head inclined a fraction —she could tell by the jitters it gave her. And his hands...how long had they been on her hips? This...would be a good moment to kiss, she thought. Such awareness sent a tingle of anxiety through her, and she felt very close to him all of the sudden —or rather, it made her realize how close they'd always been— and...he wasn't pushing her away this time. He wasn't being broody, or restrained, or dark, and... "No," she said, then smiled wistfully with lowered eyes. "I promised."
She uncurled her hands and pressed them flat, pressed them lightly to his person. Jareth's brow furrowed in confusion, but he didn't say anything. The way she touched him was now filled with reservation, and it was a change that only made him touch her more directly in return. His hands moved carefully up her back —then braced when she unexpectedly wobbled.
Her hands turned back to fists in his coat, squeezing tightly and jerking the two halves together to break her fall. She stabilized, but was still swaying a bit, her smile inching higher on one side.
Oh. Was this it?
"Hey...can I tell you a secret?" she asked, then paused to teeter on her heel. "I think I'm...about to pass out." She let go of Jareth and pressed a hand to her temple, looking all around with widened eyes that failed to see. "Uh huh…." she mumbled. Then he watched her eyes roll back in her head. "Definitely—"
He caught her when she fell, instinctively wrapping his arms around her as she turned limp and unconscious. He waited a moment, then spoke her name, his eyes searching her face, and then scowled when she did not readily awaken. Adjusting her in his grasp, he knelt down and lowered her to the floor. One arm kept her propped upright while the other raised to his mouth to tug off his glove with his teeth. Once his hand was freed, he pressed two fingers to her forehead. He was still for a moment, coursing magic through her and determining that she was in fact not poisoned. He grumbled then, low and exasperatedly, and stuffed his glove into his pocket before scooping her up in his arms.
He stared down at her while he stood, glowering in irritation and impatience and something else he dared not name. She looked so peaceful, laying lightly and asleep and dead in his arms. The audacity of it incited him. Her calmness, her ingenuousness, and...utter carelessness.
His hand gripped her bicep as he thought, ignoring the way she turned her head towards him and parted her lips on a shallow breath. She felt warm against him. Soft. His ungloved hand holding her thigh touched bare skin—
He averted his eyes completely as he turned around and carried her back whence they came.
The walk to her room felt longer in reverse, and he supposed that was the work of the quiet. T'was the dead of night now, and slowly the magic he'd placed in the sconces left and rejoined him as they passed. She did not wake, and he did not bother to try. Acknowledging her in any capacity right now would be a mistake. She was just too vulnerable. Too…
He noticed the shadow of a sentinel or two as he walked quietly down the hall. He passed by the first, then a second...then a third...and a fourth...and, before he knew it, they were practically lining his path. They stood idle, but their mere presence was enough to provoke him.
There'd been no trigger. He was fine. In control. So many sentinels preemptively gathering was unnecessary. Unnatural. Someone had summoned them there...to watch him. Had been watching him.
His gaze, sharpening in shadow, moved from one stone suit to the next as he pretended to ignore them and continued to walk quietly down the hall.
He was irritated by the time Merek revealed himself, stepping out of the shadows with a rather stern look about him.
Jareth came to a polite stop a few feet away.
"Highness?" Merek asked with a stupidly high inflection. "Are you alright?"
Jareth blinked slowly, training his gaze before replying,
"I'm fine."
Merek shifted, looking down at Sarah's limp body, then arched a brow.
"Is she?"
Jareth's grip tightened.
"She's fine," he replied, tersely.
Merek's brow furrowed with skepticism, his eyes shifting back to Jareth guardedly.
"She doesn't look fine," he said.
Jareth laughed —softly— in the back of his throat. The grin that accompanied the impulse curled his lip into a sneer, one that he tactfully hid by turning his face away.
"What can I say?" he replied with a shrug. "She drank herself under the table."
"Really?" Merek asked, eyeing Jareth cautiously before peering around the corridor. "...in the middle of the hall?"
Oh. Suspicion? From Merek? So boldly?
Jareth felt his teeth grind.
"So it would seem," he replied, bitingly. Merek did not respond right away. Jareth narrowed his eyes on him. "Is there something you need, Captain?"
His tone was low, or maybe it was the poor lighting that made it seem so. Merek stood confidently, however, holding that icy stare despite the gulp he concealed.
"Would you be offended if I asked where you're taking her?"
A tension traveled the air then, something of warning and impatience that passed from Jareth to him. Merek stiffened but held steadfast. Jareth humored that weak attempt at veneer by grinning and roaming his eyes away.
"Back to her room, of course —being the perfect gentleman that I am," he said, facetiously; perhaps too facetiously from the way Merek then openly frowned. Jareth watched his feet angle back, his eyes subtly focusing on the gesture.
"I can take her the rest of the way," Merek said.
The corner of Jareth's mouth twitched.
Hm? Was that supposed to be a suggestion?
Merek watched as Jareth's gaze turned razor sharp.
"Then by all means, Captain...come and take her."
Clipped enunciation made that a challenge. It brightened the look in Jareth's eyes wickedly, and, in a show of good faith, he extended his arms outward to offer up the woman draped there like she was little more than a kerchief. He grinned when Merek failed to respond. He was having fun with the poor lad, now. —T'was a shame Merek failed to realize it.
"Perhaps I'll fetch Lochlan…" he mumbled.
Jareth's hands curled around Sarah's limbs as he pulled her back to his chest.
"There is no need for that," he snapped, nastily. Merek froze. Even under such shadows, he could see the black that formed around his eyes —black that he just now realized was not there previously. Shit.
"Forgive me, Your Highness," Merek said, trying and failing to find a way to navigate his blunder. "That was...uncalled for."
Jareth huffed, staring down his nose at the boy —who was supposed to be his father's lash— with both derision and disappointment. How such a spineless cad had managed to assume this position was beyond him. Fostad would have never questioned his own judgement —and certainly not in the presence of his charge. Ah, how the standards had fallen.
"So you say," Jareth said, dismissing Merek's presence entirely by attempting to walk past him. A sentinel appeared before him abruptly, however, cutting him off just as he stood in line with Merek's shoulder. Jareth paused, allowed the shadow to spread deeper over his face, and then used it to his advantage when he looked over at Merek menacingly. "Unless you plan to stop me yourself, good captain—" and the blue of his irises flashed brightly. "—I suggest you get out of my way."
Merek stood with a steely countenance, ambivalent as he looked from Jareth, to Sarah, and back again. From this proximity, he could tell she was breathing, could tell —for the most part— that she seemed to be fine. He weighed his options and soon realized...it would be better to obey.
Begrudgingly, he stepped out of Jareth's path, bowing in deference as the sentinels retreated. Jareth eyed him intensely for a moment longer, then went on ahead.
Jareth scowled as he stalked down the remainder of the hall, now pitch black in reflection of his mood. He was angry. Enraged even. How dare that mongrel show such arrogance. The sentinels were his. They were designed for him. They were not toys to be obnoxiously manipulated. He knew his limits. He did not need to be hovered over and watched and cornered like some animal—
And Merek, oh Merek. How he loathed Captain Merek. That clod was too green. Too self-assured. The fool should have known better than to confront him without conviction —waltzing into the cage like a tamer without his whip.
His head twitched as thoughts churned, as anger and admonishment built with every step. He could feel his eyes darkening, but he couldn't stop it. He did not care to stop it. Another sentinel appeared, fading in and out of his peripheral vision as he passed. It did not provoke him this time, however. No. That one had not been commanded. That one had a reason to idle.
He could feel pressure building. One eye winced as the tick became more insistent, became louder. It's voice was incoherent, but it craved. It yearned. His hands flexed compulsively, and it was only then that he remembered what he was holding. Who he was holding—
He paused mid-step, coming back to reality fleetingly before shaking his head and carrying on. A feeling pressed outward from inside of his head; it was his only focus, and he struggled to both express and internalize it. He growled to himself, frustration mounting as he acknowledged that Merek was right. Pride aside, he shouldn't be alone with her. He should have passed her to him and his clumsy soldier's hands and let him have his way—
The mere thought of it turned that pressure black. Like a shroud. Like smoke. It consumed and swept over him, funneled by the darkness of the hall. Soldier's hands... Chef's hands… any hands and all of them —he would break and rip them apart by the bone. The vision incensed him. Vision of hands on her. Touching her. Feeling the warmth, and the softness, and the skin that he himself was now touching.
His chest moved heavier with each breath, his attention miles away as he pushed through the darkness surrounding him. All he could feel was anger and her. And it was heavy. And it was loud. And it filled and filled and filled—
The sound of her quiet murmur stopped him dead. His eyes snapped open as the literal darkness of the hall came into view. He realized his breathing had escalated, and tried to calm it, not yet fully aware of what that jarring sound belonged to.
"Jareth…?"
His name on her lips, spoken in that soft, supple voice, pulled him from his spiral. He looked down, remembered she was still so close, and realized he'd been squeezing her so tightly that she'd roused—
Her eyes flittered open, and, despite the darkness, seemed to lock onto his. Her eyelids drooped, her lashes wilted, she blinked slowly in a sign that she was not quite cognizant, and then she smiled. She smiled and reached up to touch his face.
He felt the tips of her fingers curl under his chin. Heard her faint giggle when she scratched him there affectionately.
"Hmmm..." she mumbled, so sweetly. "You're such a cute owl…"
Jareth felt the weight of his marks fade as he regained control of himself, the shroud and the pressure and the voice swept back into nothing. He stood there, rigid and in utter silence, and did nothing more than breathe. The hall and the sentinels looming around him came fully into view, and her hand, so slight and gentle, pulled away to fall limply back to her lap. When he could form the faculty to do so, he looked down to see she had fallen back asleep. He blinked down at her, beside himself and absent.
What he felt was relief, fleeting as it was, as he looked down at those softly rendered features. There was a ghostly grin to her lips, her neck arched back and exposed as she slouched in his hold. As appreciative as he was, he knew this moment of composure would not last. The sentinels were still idling, attuned to the distant sounds pounding at the back of his head. If Merek had approached him now, he would have been more forgiving. If the man's poor timing was not the problem in the first place, he might even thank him. But, as the voice bided its time whispering quietly to itself, he wondered if it was not simply inevitable. If there was any point to blaming Merek at all...
He brought her back to her room while he still could, wasting no more time with such distractions as walking or opening doors. They appeared by her bed, which he was deft to lay her on.
He pulled his arms out from under her, and hoped that would be enough. All he needed to do was turn away. Leave. Take his eyes off of her and forget how easy it would be—
Her shirt shifted up her stomach as she settled onto the bed. He could see the shape of her waist and the full roundness of an exposed hip. The shadow of her navel drew his particular attention, before she moved her legs and stretched.
Her shorts...were unspeakably short. And they were loose. The shadows between the fabric and her thighs were large. She'd turned her upper half, her back naturally arching and pressing her breasts against the tightened fabric of her shirt. The shadows there left no mystery to their shape, even revealing the soft mounds of her nipples through the cotton. He hadn't noticed...that she wasn't wearing anything underneath.
Mindlessly, he knelt down beside the bed. Pale moonlight shone on her once more, which was more guile than ever needed to draw him in. He leaned in closer despite himself, observing the way she breathed and the gentle shape of her mouth. He faltered when the alcohol on her breath grazed his nose, the whisper in his head gaining clarity as it repeated how easy it would be…
His eyes turned vacant and nearly closed as he leaned over her further, lowering his face to her neck and trailing his nose down her front. She smelled good, too. —he meant to tell her that. Something inexplicable, and feral, and sweet. One of his hands rose to grasp her by the thigh as his nose traced close to her navel. She didn't rouse this time. Didn't react at all. And the voice whispered, louder, all the things he could do, the ways he could grasp her and touch her, the way she would taste, the way she would feel. She wouldn't fight him. Wouldn't be able to. By the time she screamed, it would be too late. It would be...so easy.
He felt himself slipping again, but was slow to fight it. He opened his mouth and darted out his tongue, lightly tasting her skin with the very tip. She must have felt him that time, for she squirmed and shivered and inadvertently turned towards him. His mouth was open. He was breathing onto her now, hovering just a millimeter from the fine hairs covering her skin. Skin that was so close, and his mouth...so wet.
The voice spoke just shy of him now. It guided his hand and pushed him closer. It told him to drag his tongue down beneath the hem of her shorts. To reach up and around and feel the flesh of her ass, and hear her breathy whimpers when his fingers grazed along her folds. It told him to turn her, and pin her, and strip her bare. It told him to bite that soft flesh, to break the skin, and drag his teeth sharply up her side. It told him to spread her legs and take her by the neck. It told him to kiss, and lick, and gnaw, and squeeze before she could scream.
It would be so easy.
She wouldn't fight him.
Wouldn't be able to.
By the time she screamed, it would be too late.
And then the voice reminded him, but you want her to scream.
Jareth paused. He pulled away. His glazed eyes cleared, and he came back to the sight of her ribs. He'd been hovering there, his hand now creeping towards the inviting shadow at the back of her thigh. He breathed steadily, regaining composure and pushing back the wretched whisper with surprising authority.
But what use was it, really? He was drawn to her. He would admit that. He didn't know why, but it was something that'd always been. He wanted to be near her. To keep her. To have her. He wanted her to know and never know...because he wanted. Because he was not generous. Because he was not kind. He did not want to hurt her. But...what he did want...would most assuredly hurt.
He knew, no matter how many times it quelled, that so long as she existed the whisper would not die. That it had never died. That, the longer it slept, the stronger it became. It was pointless. All these years were pointless. She was there to save him, but that was not her responsibility. He should just give in. She would suffer less in the long run.
He leaned away from her and the bed entirely, reaching down to pull a throw blanket up and over her —as if something so trite could curb his temptation. Still, it did something, for he was able to step away.
He regretted choosing to marry her. He regretted choosing someone he liked. She was right. It should mean nothing. He should have chosen some hoity-toity faerie princess and been done with it. That would have been wise. She might have hid with all the others. He would have been able to stay away then, and avoid this.
But...he was selfish. He was cruel. It did mean something, and he...was only going to hurt her.
He left her and headed for the door, thoughts darkening and mind clouding along with the moon in the background with each step. This was bad. These were bad omens. No matter how many times he pushed back tonight, he couldn't shake the compulsion completely. It just kept coming back. He just...kept thinking. Of her. Of her sound. Of her eyes, and her mouth. Of her smell...and her smile…
Perhaps he was not fully recovered from that afternoon. Perhaps he was the careless one for joining her on the balcony. He shook his head to rid himself of any and all memories, but to no avail. It seemed her kiss was more potent than he thought. Because she wanted it. Because they both wanted…
He acknowledged that the fit would not leave him so easily tonight. And, although it made him bitter...he knew where he needed to go.
When he opened the door to the hall, he fully anticipated the sentinel standing at the ready to the side of it.
He clawed a hand over his forehead as he turned to it, scowling intensely as the markings spread.
"If I come back here tonight…" he muttered. "...do not let me in."
The sentinel nodded, and soon several others appeared beside it. Jareth regarded them with a distant sense of relief, before the earlier feeling returned and incited his head to twitch and cock to the side. He winced and fought it off, grinding his teeth as he mustered the agency to force himself to leave.
Lochlan dragged a hand down his face as a knock at his door pulled him from sleep. He sat up, checked the time, then sighed as he got out of bed and answered the door.
"Captain?" he asked, scratching the back of his head and peering around the darkly lit hall. "It's rather late, isn't it?"
"Forgive me."
Semi-consciousness made Lochlan slow on the uptake. It took him a second to acknowledge Merek's stony countenance.
"...is something wrong?" he asked.
Merek looked away, unsure of something —and now Lochlan was at full attention.
"I may have...made a mistake."
Lochlan frowned and stood straighter.
"What do you mean?"
"I was...concerned after the sentinels response this afternoon," he said, reluctant to meet Lochlan in the eye. "I didn't want to take the chance of him escalating to a level three, so…"
Lochlan's eyes formed an edge, and he took on a rare authoritative tone when he cut the captain off by saying,
"What happened, Merek?"
Merek paused. Not a good sign from the captain of the guard. Lochlan shifted his stance in the open doorway and crossed his arms.
"Sentinels were gathering close to Miss Williams's room," Merek explained, taking a second to bite his cheek. "I went to observe, and found her unconscious with His Highness. There was no trigger, so I didn't know what kind of state she was in. I...thought it best to intervene."
Lochlan drew back in surprise —a look that quickly shifted to concerned and then alarmed.
"What? Is she alright?"
Merek looked to the side.
"Yes...supposedly," he said. Lochlan stared expectantly. "He says she passed out from drink…"
Lochlan blinked, the precipice of panic he'd been feeling freezing in place as a kind of relief took over.
"Ah," he said, and relaxed his posture. "Yes, probably."
Merek stared in disconcertion. That reaction was not what he was expecting. Seeing the look of bemusement on Merek's face, Lochlan sighed through his nose and leaned against the doorframe.
"She was well down the bottle when I saw her tonight. I'm sure she's fine," he assured, then raised a brow. "How did His Highness look?"
Merek twitched —noticeably. Lochlan noted it duly. Oh. Was Sarah's wellbeing not the thing he was so worried about?
"He was fine…" Merek said, and then his jaw tightened. "...until I confronted him."
Lochlan's expression fell deadpan as he stared. He knew that tone. It did not need to be elaborated on. The ease Lochlan felt now turned to disappointment, and he sighed.
"If there was no trigger, then you should have stayed away," he said, sternly.
"I realize that—"
"This is precisely why we rely on the sentinels."
"Yes, I know—"
"If you're going to assume this position, Merek, you're going to have to be more discreet."
Lochlan's tone hardened with each utterance, scolding the decorated soldier like he was nothing more than a child. Merek stewed in frustration, having nothing to say and only stood there shamefully. Lochlan looked down on him, then sighed again.
"I commend your concern for her, but acting rashly will only make things worse. He is not mindless, and he cares for her wellbeing more than you realize. You should view all situations as fine until they aren't. There is no good cause in being preemptive."
Merek, tense as ever, nodded.
"I understand, My Lord."
Lochlan observed him for a prolonged second, then let out a long exhale and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"What happened next?" he asked.
"He...took her to her room, then left."
"And where is he now?"
"...in the dungeons, I believe."
Lochlan's hand fell while his brow shot up.
"What?" he asked, his voice rising impulsively. Merek looked to the floor. "Really? You're telling me you fucked up that badly? And in her presence?" He was irritated now, and lacked the proper rest to keep it concealed. He closed his eyes and inhaled, composing himself and raising a hand between he and Merek. "Fine. Fine. I will check on her, and I will watch over him tonight," Lochlan went on, grumbling as he conjured a tunic and hastily dressed himself. Merek moved back out of his way when he stepped into the hall, knowing better than to speak when the Prince's retainer was looking so angry.
"Tread carefully, Captain," Lochlan said, shooting him a glare as he closed the door to his room. "It's been an easy assignment for you thus far, so I've given you the benefit of the doubt until now. But, make no mistake, I'll not have this be undone by your timidity."
Merek lowered his head in respect, but it was not acknowledged. Lochlan was already storming away, heading towards the dungeons and the mistake Merek had made.
A/N- O.O What...what's going on in the dungeons?
Poor Sarah, missing all her cues and taking the high road. Girl just wants some *connection* —I bet we can all empathize XD
Poor Jareth, being all repressed and morally despondent. Boy just wants to bone without breaking both her and the bed — but, honestly, I bet a few of us would be down for that too.
Anyway, thanks for reading! Until next time!
(P.S. Yes, that was both a Jurassic Park reference and a Willy Wonka reference —if you happened to catch them lol)
(P.S. p.s. I actually spent a lot of time researching classic heraldry and designed an actual crest for this story. If interested, you can view it on my Deviantart page under FangamerBowiextreme, or type in "Erewhon Crest")
