To the Victor Go the Spoils

Well, it seems that the last part was well received, if the reviews are any indication. Thank you. And yes, I, too, would have expected something to happen between those two with a wrestling match going on. I'd expect it from nearly all the fanfics I read. Which is partly why nothing happened. Anyway, I finished this as soon as I could. With all that's been going on both here and in my real life (Yes, there's one lurking around here somewhere. . .) I feel worn out and emotionally drained. So try not to feel to neglected if I don't post for the next few days. I may or may not need to recuperate. (And deal with real life.) In any case, the theme is Amethyst Remembrance from Yami no Matsuei. The lyrics are in part a poem by Emily Dickinson called "I Held a Jewel In My Fingers."

Ladymage Samiko ;)

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Part 30 ~ Amethyst Remembrance

Jareth was silent for much of the meal. Sarah translated what she could for him, but she was involved in the conversation and couldn't always take the time. It amazed him at how she had changed in coming here. It was as though something had allowed the mask that separated Sarah from the world to fall, leaving bare the shining angel within. The Labyrinth had matured her from girl to woman, but it was only now that she was truly alive.

She turned to him, still smiling from a recent joke. "Are you doing okay?" she asked. "How's the food?"

"Wonderful," he assured her. "What is this?" He gestured toward the bowl in his hand.

"Uh," she said looking at it, "you probably don't want to know."

"I'm a big boy, Sarah," he smiled wryly. "I think both I and my stomach can handle it."

"Okay. It's called menudo. It's made from tripe." She watched to see his reaction.

"Really?" He sounded surprised. "It's a much different flavor from what I am used to."

Now it was Sarah's turn to be surprised. "You eat tripe normally?"

"I used to," he answered shortly, effectively ending the conversation. Somewhat disappointed, Sarah returned her attention to the rest of the group.

It was a quiet evening in the gypsy camp; most retired directly after dinner. The leader and his council went to Libertad's wagon to confer with her about the problems Sarah had presented them with. Strangely, Sarah found both herself and Jareth barred from the deliberations. The two were left alone in the clearing.

"Well," Sarah said nervously.

"Well." Jareth's voice was neutral.

"Nice night, isn't it?"

"Rather difficult to tell with all the air pollution, wouldn't you say?" Jareth asked, sardonic.

"Yeah, I guess so." She shifted her weight from foot to foot, trying not to chew her fingernails, a nervous habit she had only shed a year ago.

Finally, she gathered up all her courage and blurted out, "Jareth, what did you mean when you said you used to eat tripe?"

"I believe the statement was crystal clear," he answered coolly.

"You know what I mean, Jareth."

"I do," he replied tonelessly.

"I could order you to tell me," she threatened.

"You could. Why don't you?"

She sighed angrily and threw herself down onto the grass. "Because I couldn't do that to you, Jareth."

"Do what to me?" Sarah thought she heard genuine curiosity. She looked up at him.

"I couldn't hurt you like that. Whatever you're hiding is--obviously very personal to you. It isn't right for me to force you to tell me something that is so important to you if you don't feel you can trust me with it." Sarah spoke haltingly as she tried to organize her thoughts. "I--I guess I want you to be able to trust me. And I can't force you to do that. Especially if I root into your past without so much as a by-your-leave."

"Why would you want to bother with my past, anyway?" he asked, looking down at her. "It has nothing to do with you. We're here to solve your problem, remember?"

"And you're part of it," she joked half-heartedly. When he didn't respond, she continued seriously, "I want-- I guess I want to be able to trust you, too. And part of that, I think, is trying to understand you." She smiled wryly. "You're as twisty as the Labyrinth, Jareth. I'll probably spend the next forty years trying to figure you out."

"I could spend the next hundred trying to understand you," he replied.

"Me?" Sarah was genuinely surprised. "What's so difficult about me? There's nothing particularly complex about me. I'm just Sarah."

He sat delicately facing her. "And I could tell you I'm just Jareth. Somehow, I don't think either of us would be satisfied with the answer."

"How about this, then. You ask me one question, whatever you want, and I'll ask you one question. And we both have to answer completely. Agreed?"

For a long moment, there was silence. Jareth's face was unreadable in the firelight. "Very well," he finally said. "One question. Why do you idolize your mother?"

Sarah was taken aback at this unexpected angle. "My mother? Well, I--" She fell silent before the Goblin Lord's mocking gaze, finally laying back on the grass to stare at the sky. Long moments passed while Jareth gazed steadily at her moon-shadowed face.

"I suppose," she began slowly, "it's because she was so glamorous, you know? She'd come into the room and the whole place would come alive just 'cause she was there. I'd see her and my father together and they'd be like-- like Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart. Perfect. She made so many people happy just to see her. She was beautiful and kind and could make you feel like you were the most important, most special person in the world.

"I want to be able to do that. I want to be able to make people laugh and cry and sing. I want to feel special. I want to make other people feel special."

"Why?" he asked her. "Why bother with how other people feel? What does it matter?"

She raised herself up on her elbows to look at him. "I can't answer that, Jareth. I care about the people around me. That's why. If you don't understand that, I can't explain it to you."

He looked at her steadily for a long moment. "I believe you had a question for me," he reminded her quietly.

"Mmm," Sarah agreed, thinking quickly. She knew she had to phrase her question carefully; Jareth would try to answer as little as possible, but she didn't want to push him, either. She sighed. It always felt like she was walking a tightrope when it came to Jareth.

"Jareth," she began slowly. "Why don't you eat tripe anymore?" She would leave to him to decide how much he would tell her.

"There is no one to make it," he answered in clipped tones. A long silence fell between them, filled only by the crackling of the fire nearby. Sarah sat and watched him.

"My," he paused. "My mother used to make it for me. Every year, on my birthday, she would make my favorite foods." He stopped, staring blankly at the moon. "She said it was my day, so the world should bow to my wishes." He gave a small smile. "Even my brothers."

"Jareth. . ." Sarah breathed, trying not to break his reverie.

"I can see her now, on that one birthday so many centuries ago. My father called her the Goddess of the Kitchen. He was right. We were moving, like the rest of our kind, to the Underground and she still insisted on cooking for me. It was a mistake we never should have let her make.

Humans had followed us into the forest, intent on killing. The other families had gone ahead. We began to make a run for it, but when it was clear that we couldn't make it, we told my mother to take the baby and go. My father, my brothers, and I made our stand.

They fought, they died. Because they tried to protect me, I was the last. I ran my father's killer through with my sword and ran to reach my mother and brother." Though his eyes were bright, no tears fell as Jareth gazed blindly at the moon. His hand clutched the pendant he wore, the points digging into his palm. "They were dead. Both dead. My mother raped before they ran her through the heart and cut off her head. Liam. . ." At last he turned to Sarah, his eyes full of rage and grief. "He was only five months old, Sarah," he said fiercely. "Five months! An innocent babe as sweet and happy as a child can be. And for that they carved a rune in his chest and crushed his skull. But that was no more than he deserved," he mimicked bitterly, "for being born to the wrong parents."

Sarah's tears flowed freely, her eyes wide in horror. "Jareth. . .I--"

"I lived because they didn't expect me," he continued, paying her no heed. "They didn't expect one half-grown boy to come upon them as they laughed and congratulated each other on a successful hunt. They debated what they should take from the bodies as trophies, to hang in their huts and boast of winter nights. One man tore my mother's brooch from her dress, laughing. My father had crafted it for her from pure silver and gave it to her on their wedding night. A circle for eternity, the symbol for infinity. The symbol for their love, he told her. She wore it every day."

His voice continued, cool and distant, though his fingers moved, tracing the design of the pendant. "One of their swords was on the ground. I grabbed it, shrieking as the iron seared my hands, and ran at the man who held my mother's brooch. It fell from his hand as he clutched at his own sword that went through his stomach and out his back. The other man was in shock, which gave me time to pull the sword from the body and swing it wildly. It cut across his waist. He fell to the ground, clutching his entrails.

"I believe it was some time before he died.

"My hands were a mess and the rest of me in little better shape. But I managed to use the miniscule magic I had then to bury my family. My father lays at my mother's right hand, Liam on her left. My brothers surround and guard them. I would have stayed as well, but the other Fae found me and dragged me, screaming, to the Underground. Since they would not let me die, I determined that, though I despised it, I would never let that last bit of humanity die. I would not forget my family. I would remember them, remember the pain, and be proud that if I could not die with them, I was at least able to avenge them."

Sarah leaned toward him. "I'm glad," she said fiercely. Jareth blinked and finally saw Sarah once more. He saw the tears in her eyes and savage expression on her face. "I'm glad you killed them. How can people be such monsters?"

"Humans are monsters," Jareth answered tightly.

"No," Sarah shook her head, her hair flying. "No. Humans are not monsters. How can you say that?"

"I have lived in a world of them. I have watched them for thousands of years," he answered, his voice hard. "You know your history as well as I do."

"But I also know people, Jareth. I know my friends; I know my family. Do you think that they are monsters?" She looked into his eyes and he saw the pain in her own. "Do you think that I'm a monster?" she asked quietly.

"You can be so cruel," he whispered hoarsely.

"I don't mean to be," she replied, her voice just as soft. She reached over and stilled the hand that continued to worry his pendant. Gently, she took it in her own, removing the thin glove that covered it.

Sarah had never truly seen his hands before. Though the skin felt normal, his palm and fingers were crossed with dark red stripes that felt warmer than the pale flesh. Burn scars. From the human sword, the iron sword, he had turned against his mother's killers. She heard Jareth hiss as she traced her fingers along a few of the marks. She looked up at him again, uncertain. He looked steadily back at her, his expression unreadable.

Sarah gripped his hand between her own, somehow hoping to communicate her feelings. She raised his hand to her lips and pressed them against his palm before laying her cheek there, keeping her eyes on his. "I don't mean to be." She was no longer certain whether she was asking or telling.

An eternity of moments passed for Sarah as the two remained unmoving in the firelight. Finally, the hand on her cheek moved, the fingers caressing as she leaned into it, his thumb erasing the tears that fell. In wonder, Sarah's own fingers traced the planes of his face, feeling the drops that, at last, fell freely from his eyes.

"I--I wish," Jareth faltered. Sarah encouraged him with her silence. "I wish my mother could have known you, Sarah." For the first time in his immortal existence, Jareth surrendered his iron self-control and Sarah held him tightly as he finally allowed himself to mourn what he had lost so long ago.