Chapter Twenty-Seven: "...To the Death"
In the darkness of that moment came a light burning with ethereal energy. It shone
behind the pedestal, where once a carved homage to a certain King stood. Then, filtering
around as if the brightness had thoughts of its own, it came to rest upon Jareth, his fallen
self leaning against the wall.
Hesitating there for a moment, the illumination bathed him entirely, covering from
head to foot, his entire body. Its golden shower soothed his injury, and his mind which
remained ill at ease, while Sarah screamed from down the hallway.
"Jareth," came the gentle voice, surrounding entirely his mind.
He opened his eyes, but found that he was not in Fontridge any longer. He was in
a sort of silvery mist, which covered everything. All around an overwhelming sense of
sadness lingered, and drilled into his heart. Jareth tried to shake the feeling, but found it
inescapable as he stood, wondering exactly where he had been brought.
"Have I died?" he asked, and a light series of strained chuckles came in the same
echoing, tender voice.
"Of course not, Jareth, you will not die," she responded, for now he was certain
that the detached spirit was, indeed, female.
The mists swirled about near him, and he watched with rapt attention as they
slowly took shape. They danced upwards, forming arms, legs, a body, and taking on
colors much different from the original gray hue. His eyes shone with the reflections from
this awe-striking sight. Never had he imagined.....
Jareth's train of thought halted completely as the mist took shape, and the revealed
being stepped towards him, the fog parting in her stride. Her coppery hair hung freely,
nearly to the small of her back, and her face appeared just as lovely as the he had always
imagined. Still, seeing her again brought shivers along his spine. This could not be.
"How?" Jareth asked carefully, unable to utter another word.
She paused and then looked down at herself, then back towards the stunned King.
She shook her lovely head, allowing a tender smile to grace her full pink lips. She was
clothed in a simple cornflower blue dress, that made her only that much more beautiful.
His heart ached with old wounds, old love, and damnations for what he had done to this
young woman.
"Sarah brought me back, and now you must save her," The spirit remarked.
She extended one hand and laid it upon Jareth shoulder. For a moment, a single
tear shone in her eye and then she brushed it aside. Jareth reached out for her, but found
that his hands could not make contact with her body. She was fading already, going to
where she should have so many years ago.
"I will love you forever, Emelia," Jareth proclaimed.
All around the sound of crying slowly filtered in, as fresh tears rolled down her
silken cheeks. She smiled though, amidst the blatant show of sadness, and removed her
palm from her lover. It had not been meant to be, and it was her time to at last leave the
mortal world and shed her fate as the spirit horse. Now she could, at last, go home, her
real home.
The sobs ceased, rather abruptly, and Emelia slowly drifted away. Jareth broke his
transfixed state and rushed after the retreating ghost. There was no chance of his ever
catching her. He had known, perhaps since that dreadful day when he had seen her nearly
burned to death, that she was not meant for this world. Like so many others, her light that
shone so very bright, burned out far quicker than those more dull.
He stopped and, panting, allowed her to leave at last. Her memory would remain
with him for all time. Even as he stood there, he could almost hear her faint voice calling
to him, bidding him farewell from all around. It was as if she had become the mist, and as
it too disappeared, he no longer heard her voice.
A brilliant white glared through the foggy realm and jolted him suddenly. Without
warning Jareth found himself again in the castle, for he could feel the rough wall against
his back. His flashing eyes snapped open, and he observed the darkness of the manor, and
the pedestal, and the cutting lightning which tore through the dark sky overhead.
Sarah's screams reverberated down the lonely passage, bouncing off walls, and
returning to him. He jolted upright, and leapt to his feet, ready to pounce. The same
lightning which tore across the sky lit his darkened pupils, and cast a look of menace upon
his eyes.
With long, quick strides, he traversed the hallway, and paused as it branched into
three other passages. He looked from one to the other, suddenly noting the silence that
had overtaken everything. Sarah was not making a sound, and so he could not follow
Peter's progression through the grand manor.
"Sarah!" Jareth called, his own voice echoing diligently directly back to him.
For a short time there was no response, and he believed that, perhaps Peter had
taken drastic measures. For one achingly extended moment he felt that he had lost her,
had lost another to the horrible pains of reality. Jareth allowed a deep breath to course
through his system and then began to turn.
"No, Jareth, help!!" Sarah screamed, her voice having become harsh and raspy
from the constant tears and cries for assistance.
He abruptly swiveled about on his heels, and rushed down the left branch of the
hallway. Peter's demands for silence followed shortly later, and he heard the sudden
sound of a hand striking flesh. Jareth winced in unison with Sarah's yelp of pain. He
quickened his strides.
"You will pay, Peter!" Jareth called, and a power from his innermost being drove
out into the manor.
All along the hallway doors burst open, allowing rugs and stray pieces of furniture
to suddenly explode outwards. The destructive force followed behind the Goblin King, as
his fury increased time and again, with each approaching step he took closer to the two.
Then, only a few short yards ahead, he saw Peter, struggling with Sarah as she
fought against his hands. Jareth smiled with a predatory glint, and lunged forward. His
body as lithe as that of the fox, and twice as quick, instantly collided with Peter, forcing
the deranged man to the ground. Sarah stumbled aside, slamming violently into the wall,
and managing to shake a lovely portrait to the ground.
"I will not be denied my revenge!" Peter yelled, leaping to his feet as he dove
towards the King.
Jareth easily avoided Peter's anger-filled movements. He stood there, watching as
the man collapsed to the ground, his chest heaving with deep breaths. He then turned, and
glared at the Goblin King, a look of murder embedded within his emerald eyes.
"If I had known, Peter, I would never have left you," Jareth stated calmly, trying
to push the fight aside. This was, after all, his son, his flesh and blood, the only thing left
of Emelia.
Peter growled and rushed to his full height once more. He clenched his jaw, and
fixed Jareth with an icy glare. Jareth held it, keeping his head high and his stance proudly
straight. Sarah, at the side, watched the two magical beings square off, daring each other
to make the first move, or perhaps the final....
"If you had known..... You would have known had you been there with my
Mother! You never cared for either of us!" Peter proclaimed, taking a single step forward
with the accusation.
Jareth cocked his head, and closed his eyes. It was almost as if the Fae lord had
admitted defeat with that single movement. Still, he was not prepared to hand Sarah over
to the grips of death, nor to Peter. He sighed and twisted his hand about, producing a
near perfect crystalline orb, that shimmered slightly despite the lack of light.
"My actions were dictated, Peter. Do not let this lead to another physical conflict.
I will not be as slow to act as I was previously," Jareth warned, a touch of threatening
connotation in his voice.
Peter grinned, which was very similar to that of Jareth's. Sarah watched the two
men, noting the striking similarities that they shared. She had never connected the two,
had never even guessed at such a relationship between them. No wonder she had felt that
Peter was strangely different from most other men.
Peter emitted a single garbled exclamation of war and surged forward, his power
surrounding him in a luminess of the most brilliant blue Sarah had ever witnessed. The
light bathed Jareth, but did not harm him. The Goblin King easily walked from the
incantation and avoided Peter's flailing attempts at fighting.
"Enough!" Jareth demanded.
The Goblin King's magic flowed in a wave of energy, shattering the crystal and
driving Peter against the far wall. The man struck, slinking helplessly to the ground. His
eyes remained transfixed upon Jareth, wondering what was to come next. It was obvious
that Peter had failed, for there was none who could compare to Jareth's raw power.
Jareth casually approached his son, and then hesitated. He stood there, glaring
down at the fallen man, at the broken half-breed who had been defeated at last. There was
such pity in Jareth's heart, but it conflicted against his anger. At long last he offered a
single gloved hand, to aid Peter to his feet.
"You mistake me, old man!" Peter whispered harshly.
He grasped Jareth's hand and pulled the mighty King towards the nearby window.
In a surge of massive magical incantations the glass shattered. Outside, lightning erupted
and thunder followed shortly later. Jareth caught himself, but succeeded in piercing his
palms upon the jutting shards of glass.
Peter grasped the fae lord from behind, wrapping his sweaty hands around Jareth's
throat. He moved his face near to his father, so that the Goblin King could easily hear
what Peter wished to say. A single hitching breath brushed across Jareth's face, and he
silently wondered how he had gotten into the situation. His hand oozed brilliantly red
blood, which pooled upon the window sill and slipped down the wall.
"You will die for what you did to my mother!" Peter exclaimed, forcing Jareth
downwards, nearly upon the broken window.
Sarah yelped, rushing forwards to pry Peter away from Jareth, but found herself
firmly stuck to one place. She struggled against the spell which bound her, but to no avail.
Peter had predicted her actions correctly. Sarah watched in utter horror, her eyes
transfixed upon the scene which took place before her. Outside lightning continued to
light the battle with eerie white illumination.
The razor sharp glass cut into Jareth's shoulder, and fiery licks of pain rushed all
up and down his arm. Instantly his jacket was stained from the crimson flow of blood. He
jerked against Peter's grip, trying to break free, but his son was more powerful than he
had believed. Once more he had underestimated someone, and now would pay the
ultimate price for his folly.
His neck now remained poised over the deadly, jutting blades of glass. Before the
King's eyes, flashed scenes of his life, of what he had never had... and of what he had
allowed to escape his grasps. He could vaguely hear Sarah behind him, screaming in
hysterics, as she tried to help, tried to stop his death. It seemed so very pointless....
Then a voice filled Jareth's mind. His heart leapt and his fighting soul returned
with a new reserve of power and magic. Jareth reached around, pulling his hands from the
glass which had punctured entirely through them. He reached back, willing the pain that
seared through his entire body to be still for the moment, and grasped Peter's arms.
With strength that Jareth had believed was impossible, he forced Peter away,
driving the man against the opposite wall. His son erupted into a rage, lunging forwards
and grabbing Jareth once more, as the King rose, wavering slightly from the loss of blood.
In one heartbeat of time Jareth stepped aside, and the world seemed to move in slow
motion.
Peter flailed as he found the floor slick from his father's blood. He dove against
the remainder of the window, shattering any glass that had still stood. Jareth rushed after
him, reaching out of the window just as Peter's hands grasped the sill, in a last-ditch effort
for survival.
"You were wrong, Peter. I died many times for what I did to your mother," Jareth
stated somberly, as he gazed into the look of utter insanity inside his son's flashing green
eyes.
Peter grimaced at the pain in his lanced hands. The grits of glass cut into his
palms, loosing his grip he had on life. He allowed a single scream to burst forth from his
lungs, as the battle ended. Peter fell backwards, and continued onwards to the ground,
nearly three stories below. Jareth watched, his face set in solemn tones. He winced but
once as the body struck the ground, and then turned towards Sarah, who still stood as still
as a statue.
She hesitated as she started towards the wounded King, for he seemed so dead to
all emotions, his sapphire gaze as cold as ice. Sarah blinked away the remainder of her
tears as she continued closer to him. Jareth remained still, solemn for a few fleeting
moments before his strength gave way.
He struggled backwards, wavering on knees that had buckled beneath him. He hit
the wall painfully, cringing in the flair of agony that licked all up and down his body.
Sarah broke her hindrance, and surged onwards, taking the mighty, fallen Lord into her
arms, as she pressed her face against the silken, bloodied material which made his jacket.
He touched her back ever so gently, wincing all the more as her trembling grip
struck injuries so very fresh. Still, these would heal quickly, while those inflicted upon his
heart would last for ages more. Sarah brought her face upwards, her gaze drilling deeply
into his, questioning everything in that moment.
"Am I still some soul that needs your sympathy, that needs you to save me from
myself?" she asked carefully, toying with a few locks of his golden mane.
Jareth managed a slight smile. He forced his injured arm to move, ignoring the
pain as he touched her lovely face. He nudged her chin upwards, noting the subtle line of
her jaw that trembled only slightly at the feeling of his flesh against her own. She returned
his smile, though her grin shook as she did so.
"Sarah, you have never been something that mundane to me. I was a fool to...," he
was cut off by the presence of her finger against his lips.
She rested her head against his shoulder, and simply basked in the presence he
resonated. Slowly, as if the lightning moved inside the mansion, the electricity returned.
It moved along the hallways, sending several lamps up into sparks. For the most part,
lovely illumination covered them, as the spell which Peter had placed upon Fontridge,
slowly dropped away.
Along with the lights, however, something else returned as well. Screams and
exclamations of both fear and surprise. Sarah bolted upright, removing her hold on Jareth.
The others had been returned with Peter's demise, and soon they would find her and the
Goblin King.
"We have to go," Sarah remarked, hurriedly wrapping her arms around Jareth to
offer the injured king some semblance of support.
"I can't, not now," Jareth whispered, crying again as the searing agony laced
through his chest, warm blood still oozing from his numerous gaping wounds.
Sarah glanced behind them, hearing voices down the hallways, perhaps a floor
beneath them, at the theatre, or leaving the place now.... They would be searching for both
herself and Peter. Her anxiety leapt into her throat, forming a thick lump which forced her
breath to hitch. There was no time to waste.
She could nearly sense the other actors taking the stairs, as they searched for her
and their "playwright." The first to find Peter would receive the worst shock. Still, if they
were to discover Jareth, bloody, near the scene of Peter's death.... Sarah did not want to
imagine what would become of the weakened Goblin King.
"Jareth, they are going to find us. Go to the Underground," Sarah demanded,
looking straight into his powerful cerulean eyes.
He cupped her face in his hands, and shook his head. He was still so very ashen in
color, so weak from the fight, and his injuries. Sarah wrapped her arms around his neck,
trying to convince Jareth that now was the time for them to part, they could wait no
longer. The rest of her troupe were near, so close that she could almost hear their
footfalls echoing closer.
"We will both leave, then," he stated, and led her towards the shattered window,
which was only a few scant feet behind them.
Sarah adamantly disagreed, pulling herself free from the king. They could not both
leave, for she already knew that Jareth's magic was nearly too weak to support him back
to his world. Besides, she belonged here, not in the fantasy realm, with her lover.... She
fought back tears at the thought of losing him once again.
"I can't. Goodbye, Jareth!" Sarah sobbed and she turned to run.
Yet, she had not even begun to leave when his hand clasped around her arm,
halting her in her retreat. She whipped her head about, tears flowing freely now down her
cheeks, and off the curve of her chin. She could not speak, but pulled her arm, trying to
shake him off.
"Don't tell me that! Ever since I first saw you, there was that magic in your soul,
more than any mere mortal ought to possess. Why, Sarah, why do you think I was drawn
to you, why did you stand out amongst so many other countless pretty faces? This,"
Jareth paused as he pointed at her chest, motioning to what was held within, "Your magic,
Sarah, is what makes you, you! If you refuse to use it now, when you at last understand
the lessons I tried to teach you the last time, then you'll be lost from me forever."
He fixed her with his gaze long and hard, trying to force her decision. She glanced
about, hearing the sounds of the approaching actors and stage crews. Their voices were
reverberating down the hall, and she could almost see the faint beam of one high-powered
flashlight. Sarah turned her eyes back towards the King, and then nodded quickly.
"I don't know how," she whispered, taking his hand firmly in her own.
He brought her slender hand up to his mouth, and kissed it gently. Sarah looked at
him, and found that she had placed every last bit of trust into this King she had once taken
to be her enemy. If he chose now to seek revenge, then she would be utterly helpless....
"I'll teach you. Spread your wings, Sarah, and fly away."
Moments later several actors rushed down the hall, stopping at the blood,
shattered glass, and the articles of furniture which had been forced into the passage. They
remained there, their jaws slack and eyes wide at the sight.
"Look!" James cried from his position at the window.
All rushed beside the man, peering out into the night. A dark figure laid, twisted in
the bushes near the wall of the manor. None wanted to guess at who had fallen, for
already they feared what had occurred, and who would be to blame.
Then, in the near distance, a shape which broke the dark uniformity of the night
sky, caught the group's attention. In unison they averted their gaze from the scene of
death, towards the heavens. It was at that moment when two brilliantly white owls,
soared upwards, riding a wave of air currents, as they soared majestically onwards,
through the darkness.
In the darkness of that moment came a light burning with ethereal energy. It shone
behind the pedestal, where once a carved homage to a certain King stood. Then, filtering
around as if the brightness had thoughts of its own, it came to rest upon Jareth, his fallen
self leaning against the wall.
Hesitating there for a moment, the illumination bathed him entirely, covering from
head to foot, his entire body. Its golden shower soothed his injury, and his mind which
remained ill at ease, while Sarah screamed from down the hallway.
"Jareth," came the gentle voice, surrounding entirely his mind.
He opened his eyes, but found that he was not in Fontridge any longer. He was in
a sort of silvery mist, which covered everything. All around an overwhelming sense of
sadness lingered, and drilled into his heart. Jareth tried to shake the feeling, but found it
inescapable as he stood, wondering exactly where he had been brought.
"Have I died?" he asked, and a light series of strained chuckles came in the same
echoing, tender voice.
"Of course not, Jareth, you will not die," she responded, for now he was certain
that the detached spirit was, indeed, female.
The mists swirled about near him, and he watched with rapt attention as they
slowly took shape. They danced upwards, forming arms, legs, a body, and taking on
colors much different from the original gray hue. His eyes shone with the reflections from
this awe-striking sight. Never had he imagined.....
Jareth's train of thought halted completely as the mist took shape, and the revealed
being stepped towards him, the fog parting in her stride. Her coppery hair hung freely,
nearly to the small of her back, and her face appeared just as lovely as the he had always
imagined. Still, seeing her again brought shivers along his spine. This could not be.
"How?" Jareth asked carefully, unable to utter another word.
She paused and then looked down at herself, then back towards the stunned King.
She shook her lovely head, allowing a tender smile to grace her full pink lips. She was
clothed in a simple cornflower blue dress, that made her only that much more beautiful.
His heart ached with old wounds, old love, and damnations for what he had done to this
young woman.
"Sarah brought me back, and now you must save her," The spirit remarked.
She extended one hand and laid it upon Jareth shoulder. For a moment, a single
tear shone in her eye and then she brushed it aside. Jareth reached out for her, but found
that his hands could not make contact with her body. She was fading already, going to
where she should have so many years ago.
"I will love you forever, Emelia," Jareth proclaimed.
All around the sound of crying slowly filtered in, as fresh tears rolled down her
silken cheeks. She smiled though, amidst the blatant show of sadness, and removed her
palm from her lover. It had not been meant to be, and it was her time to at last leave the
mortal world and shed her fate as the spirit horse. Now she could, at last, go home, her
real home.
The sobs ceased, rather abruptly, and Emelia slowly drifted away. Jareth broke his
transfixed state and rushed after the retreating ghost. There was no chance of his ever
catching her. He had known, perhaps since that dreadful day when he had seen her nearly
burned to death, that she was not meant for this world. Like so many others, her light that
shone so very bright, burned out far quicker than those more dull.
He stopped and, panting, allowed her to leave at last. Her memory would remain
with him for all time. Even as he stood there, he could almost hear her faint voice calling
to him, bidding him farewell from all around. It was as if she had become the mist, and as
it too disappeared, he no longer heard her voice.
A brilliant white glared through the foggy realm and jolted him suddenly. Without
warning Jareth found himself again in the castle, for he could feel the rough wall against
his back. His flashing eyes snapped open, and he observed the darkness of the manor, and
the pedestal, and the cutting lightning which tore through the dark sky overhead.
Sarah's screams reverberated down the lonely passage, bouncing off walls, and
returning to him. He jolted upright, and leapt to his feet, ready to pounce. The same
lightning which tore across the sky lit his darkened pupils, and cast a look of menace upon
his eyes.
With long, quick strides, he traversed the hallway, and paused as it branched into
three other passages. He looked from one to the other, suddenly noting the silence that
had overtaken everything. Sarah was not making a sound, and so he could not follow
Peter's progression through the grand manor.
"Sarah!" Jareth called, his own voice echoing diligently directly back to him.
For a short time there was no response, and he believed that, perhaps Peter had
taken drastic measures. For one achingly extended moment he felt that he had lost her,
had lost another to the horrible pains of reality. Jareth allowed a deep breath to course
through his system and then began to turn.
"No, Jareth, help!!" Sarah screamed, her voice having become harsh and raspy
from the constant tears and cries for assistance.
He abruptly swiveled about on his heels, and rushed down the left branch of the
hallway. Peter's demands for silence followed shortly later, and he heard the sudden
sound of a hand striking flesh. Jareth winced in unison with Sarah's yelp of pain. He
quickened his strides.
"You will pay, Peter!" Jareth called, and a power from his innermost being drove
out into the manor.
All along the hallway doors burst open, allowing rugs and stray pieces of furniture
to suddenly explode outwards. The destructive force followed behind the Goblin King, as
his fury increased time and again, with each approaching step he took closer to the two.
Then, only a few short yards ahead, he saw Peter, struggling with Sarah as she
fought against his hands. Jareth smiled with a predatory glint, and lunged forward. His
body as lithe as that of the fox, and twice as quick, instantly collided with Peter, forcing
the deranged man to the ground. Sarah stumbled aside, slamming violently into the wall,
and managing to shake a lovely portrait to the ground.
"I will not be denied my revenge!" Peter yelled, leaping to his feet as he dove
towards the King.
Jareth easily avoided Peter's anger-filled movements. He stood there, watching as
the man collapsed to the ground, his chest heaving with deep breaths. He then turned, and
glared at the Goblin King, a look of murder embedded within his emerald eyes.
"If I had known, Peter, I would never have left you," Jareth stated calmly, trying
to push the fight aside. This was, after all, his son, his flesh and blood, the only thing left
of Emelia.
Peter growled and rushed to his full height once more. He clenched his jaw, and
fixed Jareth with an icy glare. Jareth held it, keeping his head high and his stance proudly
straight. Sarah, at the side, watched the two magical beings square off, daring each other
to make the first move, or perhaps the final....
"If you had known..... You would have known had you been there with my
Mother! You never cared for either of us!" Peter proclaimed, taking a single step forward
with the accusation.
Jareth cocked his head, and closed his eyes. It was almost as if the Fae lord had
admitted defeat with that single movement. Still, he was not prepared to hand Sarah over
to the grips of death, nor to Peter. He sighed and twisted his hand about, producing a
near perfect crystalline orb, that shimmered slightly despite the lack of light.
"My actions were dictated, Peter. Do not let this lead to another physical conflict.
I will not be as slow to act as I was previously," Jareth warned, a touch of threatening
connotation in his voice.
Peter grinned, which was very similar to that of Jareth's. Sarah watched the two
men, noting the striking similarities that they shared. She had never connected the two,
had never even guessed at such a relationship between them. No wonder she had felt that
Peter was strangely different from most other men.
Peter emitted a single garbled exclamation of war and surged forward, his power
surrounding him in a luminess of the most brilliant blue Sarah had ever witnessed. The
light bathed Jareth, but did not harm him. The Goblin King easily walked from the
incantation and avoided Peter's flailing attempts at fighting.
"Enough!" Jareth demanded.
The Goblin King's magic flowed in a wave of energy, shattering the crystal and
driving Peter against the far wall. The man struck, slinking helplessly to the ground. His
eyes remained transfixed upon Jareth, wondering what was to come next. It was obvious
that Peter had failed, for there was none who could compare to Jareth's raw power.
Jareth casually approached his son, and then hesitated. He stood there, glaring
down at the fallen man, at the broken half-breed who had been defeated at last. There was
such pity in Jareth's heart, but it conflicted against his anger. At long last he offered a
single gloved hand, to aid Peter to his feet.
"You mistake me, old man!" Peter whispered harshly.
He grasped Jareth's hand and pulled the mighty King towards the nearby window.
In a surge of massive magical incantations the glass shattered. Outside, lightning erupted
and thunder followed shortly later. Jareth caught himself, but succeeded in piercing his
palms upon the jutting shards of glass.
Peter grasped the fae lord from behind, wrapping his sweaty hands around Jareth's
throat. He moved his face near to his father, so that the Goblin King could easily hear
what Peter wished to say. A single hitching breath brushed across Jareth's face, and he
silently wondered how he had gotten into the situation. His hand oozed brilliantly red
blood, which pooled upon the window sill and slipped down the wall.
"You will die for what you did to my mother!" Peter exclaimed, forcing Jareth
downwards, nearly upon the broken window.
Sarah yelped, rushing forwards to pry Peter away from Jareth, but found herself
firmly stuck to one place. She struggled against the spell which bound her, but to no avail.
Peter had predicted her actions correctly. Sarah watched in utter horror, her eyes
transfixed upon the scene which took place before her. Outside lightning continued to
light the battle with eerie white illumination.
The razor sharp glass cut into Jareth's shoulder, and fiery licks of pain rushed all
up and down his arm. Instantly his jacket was stained from the crimson flow of blood. He
jerked against Peter's grip, trying to break free, but his son was more powerful than he
had believed. Once more he had underestimated someone, and now would pay the
ultimate price for his folly.
His neck now remained poised over the deadly, jutting blades of glass. Before the
King's eyes, flashed scenes of his life, of what he had never had... and of what he had
allowed to escape his grasps. He could vaguely hear Sarah behind him, screaming in
hysterics, as she tried to help, tried to stop his death. It seemed so very pointless....
Then a voice filled Jareth's mind. His heart leapt and his fighting soul returned
with a new reserve of power and magic. Jareth reached around, pulling his hands from the
glass which had punctured entirely through them. He reached back, willing the pain that
seared through his entire body to be still for the moment, and grasped Peter's arms.
With strength that Jareth had believed was impossible, he forced Peter away,
driving the man against the opposite wall. His son erupted into a rage, lunging forwards
and grabbing Jareth once more, as the King rose, wavering slightly from the loss of blood.
In one heartbeat of time Jareth stepped aside, and the world seemed to move in slow
motion.
Peter flailed as he found the floor slick from his father's blood. He dove against
the remainder of the window, shattering any glass that had still stood. Jareth rushed after
him, reaching out of the window just as Peter's hands grasped the sill, in a last-ditch effort
for survival.
"You were wrong, Peter. I died many times for what I did to your mother," Jareth
stated somberly, as he gazed into the look of utter insanity inside his son's flashing green
eyes.
Peter grimaced at the pain in his lanced hands. The grits of glass cut into his
palms, loosing his grip he had on life. He allowed a single scream to burst forth from his
lungs, as the battle ended. Peter fell backwards, and continued onwards to the ground,
nearly three stories below. Jareth watched, his face set in solemn tones. He winced but
once as the body struck the ground, and then turned towards Sarah, who still stood as still
as a statue.
She hesitated as she started towards the wounded King, for he seemed so dead to
all emotions, his sapphire gaze as cold as ice. Sarah blinked away the remainder of her
tears as she continued closer to him. Jareth remained still, solemn for a few fleeting
moments before his strength gave way.
He struggled backwards, wavering on knees that had buckled beneath him. He hit
the wall painfully, cringing in the flair of agony that licked all up and down his body.
Sarah broke her hindrance, and surged onwards, taking the mighty, fallen Lord into her
arms, as she pressed her face against the silken, bloodied material which made his jacket.
He touched her back ever so gently, wincing all the more as her trembling grip
struck injuries so very fresh. Still, these would heal quickly, while those inflicted upon his
heart would last for ages more. Sarah brought her face upwards, her gaze drilling deeply
into his, questioning everything in that moment.
"Am I still some soul that needs your sympathy, that needs you to save me from
myself?" she asked carefully, toying with a few locks of his golden mane.
Jareth managed a slight smile. He forced his injured arm to move, ignoring the
pain as he touched her lovely face. He nudged her chin upwards, noting the subtle line of
her jaw that trembled only slightly at the feeling of his flesh against her own. She returned
his smile, though her grin shook as she did so.
"Sarah, you have never been something that mundane to me. I was a fool to...," he
was cut off by the presence of her finger against his lips.
She rested her head against his shoulder, and simply basked in the presence he
resonated. Slowly, as if the lightning moved inside the mansion, the electricity returned.
It moved along the hallways, sending several lamps up into sparks. For the most part,
lovely illumination covered them, as the spell which Peter had placed upon Fontridge,
slowly dropped away.
Along with the lights, however, something else returned as well. Screams and
exclamations of both fear and surprise. Sarah bolted upright, removing her hold on Jareth.
The others had been returned with Peter's demise, and soon they would find her and the
Goblin King.
"We have to go," Sarah remarked, hurriedly wrapping her arms around Jareth to
offer the injured king some semblance of support.
"I can't, not now," Jareth whispered, crying again as the searing agony laced
through his chest, warm blood still oozing from his numerous gaping wounds.
Sarah glanced behind them, hearing voices down the hallways, perhaps a floor
beneath them, at the theatre, or leaving the place now.... They would be searching for both
herself and Peter. Her anxiety leapt into her throat, forming a thick lump which forced her
breath to hitch. There was no time to waste.
She could nearly sense the other actors taking the stairs, as they searched for her
and their "playwright." The first to find Peter would receive the worst shock. Still, if they
were to discover Jareth, bloody, near the scene of Peter's death.... Sarah did not want to
imagine what would become of the weakened Goblin King.
"Jareth, they are going to find us. Go to the Underground," Sarah demanded,
looking straight into his powerful cerulean eyes.
He cupped her face in his hands, and shook his head. He was still so very ashen in
color, so weak from the fight, and his injuries. Sarah wrapped her arms around his neck,
trying to convince Jareth that now was the time for them to part, they could wait no
longer. The rest of her troupe were near, so close that she could almost hear their
footfalls echoing closer.
"We will both leave, then," he stated, and led her towards the shattered window,
which was only a few scant feet behind them.
Sarah adamantly disagreed, pulling herself free from the king. They could not both
leave, for she already knew that Jareth's magic was nearly too weak to support him back
to his world. Besides, she belonged here, not in the fantasy realm, with her lover.... She
fought back tears at the thought of losing him once again.
"I can't. Goodbye, Jareth!" Sarah sobbed and she turned to run.
Yet, she had not even begun to leave when his hand clasped around her arm,
halting her in her retreat. She whipped her head about, tears flowing freely now down her
cheeks, and off the curve of her chin. She could not speak, but pulled her arm, trying to
shake him off.
"Don't tell me that! Ever since I first saw you, there was that magic in your soul,
more than any mere mortal ought to possess. Why, Sarah, why do you think I was drawn
to you, why did you stand out amongst so many other countless pretty faces? This,"
Jareth paused as he pointed at her chest, motioning to what was held within, "Your magic,
Sarah, is what makes you, you! If you refuse to use it now, when you at last understand
the lessons I tried to teach you the last time, then you'll be lost from me forever."
He fixed her with his gaze long and hard, trying to force her decision. She glanced
about, hearing the sounds of the approaching actors and stage crews. Their voices were
reverberating down the hall, and she could almost see the faint beam of one high-powered
flashlight. Sarah turned her eyes back towards the King, and then nodded quickly.
"I don't know how," she whispered, taking his hand firmly in her own.
He brought her slender hand up to his mouth, and kissed it gently. Sarah looked at
him, and found that she had placed every last bit of trust into this King she had once taken
to be her enemy. If he chose now to seek revenge, then she would be utterly helpless....
"I'll teach you. Spread your wings, Sarah, and fly away."
Moments later several actors rushed down the hall, stopping at the blood,
shattered glass, and the articles of furniture which had been forced into the passage. They
remained there, their jaws slack and eyes wide at the sight.
"Look!" James cried from his position at the window.
All rushed beside the man, peering out into the night. A dark figure laid, twisted in
the bushes near the wall of the manor. None wanted to guess at who had fallen, for
already they feared what had occurred, and who would be to blame.
Then, in the near distance, a shape which broke the dark uniformity of the night
sky, caught the group's attention. In unison they averted their gaze from the scene of
death, towards the heavens. It was at that moment when two brilliantly white owls,
soared upwards, riding a wave of air currents, as they soared majestically onwards,
through the darkness.
