Part Nine
"Not only is a woman's work never done-the definition keeps changing."
Two days, she thought incredulously. Two short days, and they feel like eternity.
She lay sprawled on her back, in her and Jareth's chambers, on the floor no less, because she didn't want to get her bloody, grimy clothes all over the still-clean bed, but didn't have the energy to clean herself up either. The floor was comfortable enough anyway, for one as tired as she.
Outside the window, she could hear Sir Didymus's sharp voice issuing commands, marshaling the remaining creatures back into the Labyrinth, and running the impromptu hospital they had set up for the wounded. Sarah wanted to wish all their pain away-but the work she had done already had left her with barely the energy to stand. She would have to let them heal the natural way-for heal they all would.
And she couldn't bring back the dead, anyway.
Dead.
No.
She closed her eyes and pushed that thought away. He wasn't dead! Jareth was far too powerful-not to mention FAR too stubborn- to die. He was fae, for goodness sake! Could they even die?
*They can be killed just like the rest of us.*
"Oh, Jareth," she whispered, curling into a ball of misery. "Please...don't be dead."
He was torn, watching her. A single tear wormed its way out of his brown eye and traveled sluggishly down his face. Even the monster beside him couldn't seem to find the temerity to mock him, not in the face of this. Jareth's kind, old as they were, as much as they had seen, were unfamiliar with passion-his own love for Sarah had nearly startled the wits out of him-and his captor hadn't even felt pale emotions like resentment or frustration for years. Watching this was completely mystifying the old fiend.
"Such pain," he whispered, and Jareth wanted to strangle him for causing this.
"I wish Jareth were here," Sarah's voice drowned out whatever the fiend had been going to say. She swallowed, shut her eyes and let loose a harsh sob. "I wish I knew why you don't come."
Abruptly, her eyes snapped open, and she thrust herself up into a sitting position. Her breathing had gone very still, she looked very much like deer that had just scented a hunter-at the exact moment the hunter draws back the bow.
"Oh dear," Jareth's warden muttered. "That's done it."
Before either man could react, Sarah touched the pendant at her neck and cried, "I wish I was with you!"
There was small thunderclap, the result of a large amount of air whooshing in to fill the empty space Sarah left behind when her body vanished.
And then the empty room was silent.
The first thing she was aware of was the stone floor beneath her. In her room, the stone was warm, sun-baked, and friendly. The stone beneath her now was cold and dank, the rough surface pushing into her skin. She sat up quickly, blinking as her eyes fought to adjust to the sudden gloom.
Off to the side, she heard the rustle of cloth being drawn over stone, and in a flash she was on her feet, face turned toward the sound. She squinted into the shadows, but all she could make out was a very dim outline.
"*Well*" a voice purred. "Whatever have we here?"
Sarah gasped as a piece of ice slid down her back. That voice...so familiar, and yet, so alien...
"Jareth?"
"Oh no, my dear. Not quite."
"Who are you?"
He slid closer, and Sarah froze as his face came into view.
It wasn't Jareth...and yet, somehow, it WAS. The man (fae, actually, a part of her mind corrected absently) had the same spiky blonde hair, the same lean body, the same angular facial bones (but didn't all fae have that look to them?)...but his face was older, streaks of gray ran through his hair (so light you could barely see them), and his eyes-glittery black eyes that seemed to be looking through her very soul...
"I," he said slowly, savoring the words, "am Obadiah."
"You...you are...somehow..."
"Related to your precious Jareth? Very good, my lady. You are exceptionally bright for a mortal. I can see why he chose you for his queen."
Sarah followed the man's nod, and her heart skipped a beat.
"Oh, go ahead. He's real, this time, I assure you."
With a small, strangled cry, she ran to his side, kneeling down on the cold stone to look into his battered face. "Jareth..."
He raised his head slowly, and the stiffness was enough to make her cry...no, she'd done plenty crying of late.
Now she was just plain MAD.
"You!" She stormed to her feet. "You bloody-"
"Ah ah ah. Language! And here I just finished calling you a queen!"
"Let him go!"
"No, not just yet. First I have a slight business proposition."
"No."
"You haven't even heard it yet."
"The answer is still no. I refuse to make any bargains with you. You WILL give me back my husband, and then you will get as far away from the Labyrinth as your feet or magic can carry you. And you WILL do it NOW." She probably sounded like a willful child to this ancient fae, but Sarah was far beyond caring. She was tired, she was angry, she was at her rope's end.
Obadiah chuckled. "Listen to this!" he told the air in amusement. "A mere mortal child telling the brother of King Oberon himself what to do and how to do it! You're very funny, my lady."
Sarah didn't answer him, her mind was working furiously. "I'm getting tired of you," she told the chortling fae shortly. "Stop wasting my time and get on with it."
"I think, Your Ladyship, that you are in more serious need of etiquette lessons than my son."
Sarah leaned forward to retort, then stopped in mid-breath. "Your son?"
"Yes. My son." And he nodded again to the shackled figure on the wall.
"You did this to your own SON?" Sarah felt like gagging. This was worse than the wyrms. This was...an abomination.
"Yes. Oh, don't look so shocked, girl. Surely you knew that the fae hold very little stock in 'family.' It doesn't matter to me if Jareth is my son or not. Although, admittedly, I am rather more proud of him than his bastard half brother." He waved at the wall behind her, which shimmered and formed the image of a small, dark half-fae. Erlar. Sarah jumped away from the image, appalled.
"You mortals," Obadiah scoffed. "So attached to your blood kin. It's one of the curses of short lives, I suppose."
"As opposed to the curses of your long one, I think I'd rather be mortal!" Sarah snapped, and with one last wayward mental wish, she unsheathed her sword and lunged for the monster. She moved faster than he had thought a mortal could, and in a blink had the sword hilt deep into his belly.
"Oh, tut tut, Sarah," he drawled idly, "You can't really expect to strike down one as old and powerful as I with a mere bit of steel?"
"No," she gritted. An odd, lopsided smile warped her face. "Not steel. I made an...alteration."
He opened his mouth to answer her, and his lips twisted strangely. The words died in his throat, and Sarah jumped away from him as he began to thrash blindly. She turned her back again, and knelt back at Jareth's side, wrapping her arms around his body and burying her face in his hair. His eyes were closed, but she knew he was awake, and neither of them would ever forget the raging screams of the dying fae as the iron sword spread its bane through his body.
When the sounds faded, the tower shuddered, and two seconds before it could collapse completely, Sarah touched her pendant (and Jareth's for good measure) and wished them home.
She opened her eyes carefully, and laughed hoarsely with relief when she found herself on the floor, entangled in the bruised and battered limbs of the Goblin King-who, for the record, was out cold.
"Not only is a woman's work never done-the definition keeps changing."
Two days, she thought incredulously. Two short days, and they feel like eternity.
She lay sprawled on her back, in her and Jareth's chambers, on the floor no less, because she didn't want to get her bloody, grimy clothes all over the still-clean bed, but didn't have the energy to clean herself up either. The floor was comfortable enough anyway, for one as tired as she.
Outside the window, she could hear Sir Didymus's sharp voice issuing commands, marshaling the remaining creatures back into the Labyrinth, and running the impromptu hospital they had set up for the wounded. Sarah wanted to wish all their pain away-but the work she had done already had left her with barely the energy to stand. She would have to let them heal the natural way-for heal they all would.
And she couldn't bring back the dead, anyway.
Dead.
No.
She closed her eyes and pushed that thought away. He wasn't dead! Jareth was far too powerful-not to mention FAR too stubborn- to die. He was fae, for goodness sake! Could they even die?
*They can be killed just like the rest of us.*
"Oh, Jareth," she whispered, curling into a ball of misery. "Please...don't be dead."
He was torn, watching her. A single tear wormed its way out of his brown eye and traveled sluggishly down his face. Even the monster beside him couldn't seem to find the temerity to mock him, not in the face of this. Jareth's kind, old as they were, as much as they had seen, were unfamiliar with passion-his own love for Sarah had nearly startled the wits out of him-and his captor hadn't even felt pale emotions like resentment or frustration for years. Watching this was completely mystifying the old fiend.
"Such pain," he whispered, and Jareth wanted to strangle him for causing this.
"I wish Jareth were here," Sarah's voice drowned out whatever the fiend had been going to say. She swallowed, shut her eyes and let loose a harsh sob. "I wish I knew why you don't come."
Abruptly, her eyes snapped open, and she thrust herself up into a sitting position. Her breathing had gone very still, she looked very much like deer that had just scented a hunter-at the exact moment the hunter draws back the bow.
"Oh dear," Jareth's warden muttered. "That's done it."
Before either man could react, Sarah touched the pendant at her neck and cried, "I wish I was with you!"
There was small thunderclap, the result of a large amount of air whooshing in to fill the empty space Sarah left behind when her body vanished.
And then the empty room was silent.
The first thing she was aware of was the stone floor beneath her. In her room, the stone was warm, sun-baked, and friendly. The stone beneath her now was cold and dank, the rough surface pushing into her skin. She sat up quickly, blinking as her eyes fought to adjust to the sudden gloom.
Off to the side, she heard the rustle of cloth being drawn over stone, and in a flash she was on her feet, face turned toward the sound. She squinted into the shadows, but all she could make out was a very dim outline.
"*Well*" a voice purred. "Whatever have we here?"
Sarah gasped as a piece of ice slid down her back. That voice...so familiar, and yet, so alien...
"Jareth?"
"Oh no, my dear. Not quite."
"Who are you?"
He slid closer, and Sarah froze as his face came into view.
It wasn't Jareth...and yet, somehow, it WAS. The man (fae, actually, a part of her mind corrected absently) had the same spiky blonde hair, the same lean body, the same angular facial bones (but didn't all fae have that look to them?)...but his face was older, streaks of gray ran through his hair (so light you could barely see them), and his eyes-glittery black eyes that seemed to be looking through her very soul...
"I," he said slowly, savoring the words, "am Obadiah."
"You...you are...somehow..."
"Related to your precious Jareth? Very good, my lady. You are exceptionally bright for a mortal. I can see why he chose you for his queen."
Sarah followed the man's nod, and her heart skipped a beat.
"Oh, go ahead. He's real, this time, I assure you."
With a small, strangled cry, she ran to his side, kneeling down on the cold stone to look into his battered face. "Jareth..."
He raised his head slowly, and the stiffness was enough to make her cry...no, she'd done plenty crying of late.
Now she was just plain MAD.
"You!" She stormed to her feet. "You bloody-"
"Ah ah ah. Language! And here I just finished calling you a queen!"
"Let him go!"
"No, not just yet. First I have a slight business proposition."
"No."
"You haven't even heard it yet."
"The answer is still no. I refuse to make any bargains with you. You WILL give me back my husband, and then you will get as far away from the Labyrinth as your feet or magic can carry you. And you WILL do it NOW." She probably sounded like a willful child to this ancient fae, but Sarah was far beyond caring. She was tired, she was angry, she was at her rope's end.
Obadiah chuckled. "Listen to this!" he told the air in amusement. "A mere mortal child telling the brother of King Oberon himself what to do and how to do it! You're very funny, my lady."
Sarah didn't answer him, her mind was working furiously. "I'm getting tired of you," she told the chortling fae shortly. "Stop wasting my time and get on with it."
"I think, Your Ladyship, that you are in more serious need of etiquette lessons than my son."
Sarah leaned forward to retort, then stopped in mid-breath. "Your son?"
"Yes. My son." And he nodded again to the shackled figure on the wall.
"You did this to your own SON?" Sarah felt like gagging. This was worse than the wyrms. This was...an abomination.
"Yes. Oh, don't look so shocked, girl. Surely you knew that the fae hold very little stock in 'family.' It doesn't matter to me if Jareth is my son or not. Although, admittedly, I am rather more proud of him than his bastard half brother." He waved at the wall behind her, which shimmered and formed the image of a small, dark half-fae. Erlar. Sarah jumped away from the image, appalled.
"You mortals," Obadiah scoffed. "So attached to your blood kin. It's one of the curses of short lives, I suppose."
"As opposed to the curses of your long one, I think I'd rather be mortal!" Sarah snapped, and with one last wayward mental wish, she unsheathed her sword and lunged for the monster. She moved faster than he had thought a mortal could, and in a blink had the sword hilt deep into his belly.
"Oh, tut tut, Sarah," he drawled idly, "You can't really expect to strike down one as old and powerful as I with a mere bit of steel?"
"No," she gritted. An odd, lopsided smile warped her face. "Not steel. I made an...alteration."
He opened his mouth to answer her, and his lips twisted strangely. The words died in his throat, and Sarah jumped away from him as he began to thrash blindly. She turned her back again, and knelt back at Jareth's side, wrapping her arms around his body and burying her face in his hair. His eyes were closed, but she knew he was awake, and neither of them would ever forget the raging screams of the dying fae as the iron sword spread its bane through his body.
When the sounds faded, the tower shuddered, and two seconds before it could collapse completely, Sarah touched her pendant (and Jareth's for good measure) and wished them home.
She opened her eyes carefully, and laughed hoarsely with relief when she found herself on the floor, entangled in the bruised and battered limbs of the Goblin King-who, for the record, was out cold.