Disclaimers: Hi my name is morgana, (response from others in the room, "hi morgana"), and I'm a Labyrinth addict.
Anger and Defiance
The room was expansive. A round room with high vaulted ceilings and solid stonewalls. The walls were a dull gray with bloodstains haphazardly spread across them. The room had only two or three large chairs to account for furniture, but what it lacked in decoration, it made up for in the plethora of weaponry that lined the cold, gray walls.
The center of the room held all attention where two men were fighting. At that moment one man held a broadsword, which he was swinging in a downward thrust at his opponent. The recipient of this blow ducked just in time to be nicked only on his back. The cut bleed quickly, soaking up a portion of his shirt and mixing with the sweat that covered his body. The wounded man held a mace that he used defensively. He, to the best of his abilities, blocked the subsequent and fast attacking blows of his opponent.
He reached up and held the mace high above his head to block a second downward thrust of the sword aimed for his neck. He stopped the blow and used this position in which to deliver a fast and nasty kick to the abdomen of his opponent. He then pulled quickly back and stepped around to the back of the man who was kneeling from the blow.
The man with the mace was obviously talented in his fighting skills but he had not been trained in the ways of survival through pain. It was for this training that he was here. He raised the mace above his head to bring it crashing down on the head of the kneeling man. However, he did not get to deliver this blow. Just as he was in position to strike, the kneeling man twisted and came up at an angle to cut deeply into his side.
The blood flowed heavily from the wound and the man receiving it groaned loudly, falling to the floor. The victor regained his footing and stood over the fallen man preparing to behead him. He would have completed this had not a voice stopped him.
"Enough," came a female voice.
The victor looked up and upon meeting the eyes of Mortiana he lowered his sword and stepped back from the loser.
"Let me see his face," she asked.
The man stepped back over to the loser and lifted his head up at an awkward angle to where it was visible to Mortiana.
She leaned forward slightly in the chair she was sitting, "Do you still wish to join my legions."
The man could only gurgle in response while the puddle of blood around him grew larger.
Mortiana clapped her hands and two soldiers came forward.
"Take him to the healer, he is of no use to me dead," she hissed.
The two men stepped forward and taking the fallen man by the shirt drug him out of the room. The only evidence left of his presence was the puddle of blood on the floor and the trail he emitted as he was dragged away.
Mortiana stood up from the chair in which she had been watching the competition. She walked down the steps and took the hand offered to her by the victor as she descended the final steps.
She smiled at him and noting the long blond hair plastered to his head and face and numerous bloodstains covering his body could only say in cold laughter, " I do love watching you work."
He smiled at her viciously, "I am surprised to here that milady, considering that you prefer me to kill my opponents."
"Well," she replied, "one must keep their armies in stock and their subjects in line. You should clean yourself up my dear Legias, you look quite frightful."
Legias smiled at her seductively, "My lady, I thought you preferred me frightful."
Mortiana grinned at him, her pointed teeth quite apparent. "Only when I do the inflicting," she purred.
They would have continued further had they not been interrupted by sound of a throat being cleared.
Mortiana whirled around angrily. Her servants knew better than to disturb her during her training sessions but that did not stop a few stragglers from accidentally finding the room while she occupied it. Those who did came to very unfortunate and painful ends.
She smiled at the person she found standing next to her chair.
"Tristan, when did you return from your hunting," she asked.
Tristan looked coldly at both parties before responding. "I returned only recently, the servants told me that you would be in here."
"Are you going to supper with us my dear, Legias has informed me of new shipments of children coming in tomorrow, we have much planning to do"
Tristan did not move, "No mother, I will be retiring soon."
She walked over to her son and embraced him. Tristan and Legias' eyes met for a moment, both showed cold hatred. Mortiana stood back and placed a small kiss on Tristan's cheek.
"I will see you in the morning," she spoke before quickly turning, taking Legias' outstretched arm and exiting the room.
For a moment Tristan stared after them, listening to the receding sound of their footsteps and cold laughter. He hated Legias. His mother knew that and kept him from acting on his liking. He did not trust, but in all truth he did not trust his mother either. Tristan was bound to his mother, she had bore him, brought him up and trained him. In time he might take her kingdom, but he was never sure. The only thing he knew with any certainty is that he preferred to be left alone. Let her do what she will, it was of no concern to him. The only thing that concerned him was the wife of the Goblin King. He had viewed her once through one of his crystals. She was quite breathtaking. She was kind, compassionate and very head-strung. He wondered what his mother had in store for her, knowing that Jareth would be dead before she was completely satisfied.
After a few more moments he walked out of the room and headed to his room. Maybe he would sleep decently tonight. He hoped, but never expected.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tristan stood in his bedroom looking out the window at the desolate environment that lay before him. For as far as the eye could see under the bright light of the moonlight, he saw death and destruction and the evidence of his mother's iron grip on her kingdom. There wasn't any grass anywhere, only dirt. Any crops that Mortiana's kingdom possessed was obtained in raids into other kingdoms or with deals she made.
Tristan walked over to his bed and lay down. He stared up at the ceiling and listened to the faint sounds coming from outside. His bedroom was in one of the tallest towers in the castle but sound carried up into his room from the courtyards below. A few trolls who were on watch tonight played a card game near the campfires set up for warmth. Others talked in low voices. Tristan listened to them with vague interest. Hopefully their insistent droning would help him to sleep.
Suddenly a sharp pain filled Tristan's body and mind and he sat up breathing hard. He could not see for several minutes because his eyes were blinded with a white light. His body was shaking and he felt like he had just been trampled by a legion of horses. The sharpness of the pain slowly subsided but a dull ache stayed in his body.
He flicked his wrist and all the candlesticks in his room burst to life. He looked around the room trying to find, if it was even in his room, the reason or source for his pain.
He saw nothing save the normal surroundings of his room. His large four post bed carved out of wood and scorched with fire until black, his bureau, desk, table and dark brown curtains hanging from the single window.
He flicked his wrist again and all the candles extinguished themselves. He stood up and walked back over to his window. He sat down on the windowsill deep in thought. He ran his fingers through his long brown hair and sighed.
Looking out into the night he wondered what had happened. It quite possibly could have been his mother. Sometimes when she was angry with him she would cast spells on him to put him in physical or mental pain, but somehow this time seemed different. On a whim he drew a crystal and peered into it. It showed him what he had many times before looked at: Sarah. He was shocked at what he saw. He saw Sarah unconscious on the ground with Jareth and two other people running to her. Her hand was bleeding and several small shards of glass were sticking out of it. Her face was also cut, but not badly.
Tristan flicked his wrist and the crystal disappeared. His mother had cast a spell on Sarah. It looked to be a sleep enchantment spell. He walked back over to his bed and lay back down. Sleep enchantments were not something that his mother usually performed but he knew that she could do them.
He lay back on his bed and wondered as he slowly fell asleep. "Why did she do that to Sarah, and what does it have to do with what happened to me?"
Anger and Defiance
The room was expansive. A round room with high vaulted ceilings and solid stonewalls. The walls were a dull gray with bloodstains haphazardly spread across them. The room had only two or three large chairs to account for furniture, but what it lacked in decoration, it made up for in the plethora of weaponry that lined the cold, gray walls.
The center of the room held all attention where two men were fighting. At that moment one man held a broadsword, which he was swinging in a downward thrust at his opponent. The recipient of this blow ducked just in time to be nicked only on his back. The cut bleed quickly, soaking up a portion of his shirt and mixing with the sweat that covered his body. The wounded man held a mace that he used defensively. He, to the best of his abilities, blocked the subsequent and fast attacking blows of his opponent.
He reached up and held the mace high above his head to block a second downward thrust of the sword aimed for his neck. He stopped the blow and used this position in which to deliver a fast and nasty kick to the abdomen of his opponent. He then pulled quickly back and stepped around to the back of the man who was kneeling from the blow.
The man with the mace was obviously talented in his fighting skills but he had not been trained in the ways of survival through pain. It was for this training that he was here. He raised the mace above his head to bring it crashing down on the head of the kneeling man. However, he did not get to deliver this blow. Just as he was in position to strike, the kneeling man twisted and came up at an angle to cut deeply into his side.
The blood flowed heavily from the wound and the man receiving it groaned loudly, falling to the floor. The victor regained his footing and stood over the fallen man preparing to behead him. He would have completed this had not a voice stopped him.
"Enough," came a female voice.
The victor looked up and upon meeting the eyes of Mortiana he lowered his sword and stepped back from the loser.
"Let me see his face," she asked.
The man stepped back over to the loser and lifted his head up at an awkward angle to where it was visible to Mortiana.
She leaned forward slightly in the chair she was sitting, "Do you still wish to join my legions."
The man could only gurgle in response while the puddle of blood around him grew larger.
Mortiana clapped her hands and two soldiers came forward.
"Take him to the healer, he is of no use to me dead," she hissed.
The two men stepped forward and taking the fallen man by the shirt drug him out of the room. The only evidence left of his presence was the puddle of blood on the floor and the trail he emitted as he was dragged away.
Mortiana stood up from the chair in which she had been watching the competition. She walked down the steps and took the hand offered to her by the victor as she descended the final steps.
She smiled at him and noting the long blond hair plastered to his head and face and numerous bloodstains covering his body could only say in cold laughter, " I do love watching you work."
He smiled at her viciously, "I am surprised to here that milady, considering that you prefer me to kill my opponents."
"Well," she replied, "one must keep their armies in stock and their subjects in line. You should clean yourself up my dear Legias, you look quite frightful."
Legias smiled at her seductively, "My lady, I thought you preferred me frightful."
Mortiana grinned at him, her pointed teeth quite apparent. "Only when I do the inflicting," she purred.
They would have continued further had they not been interrupted by sound of a throat being cleared.
Mortiana whirled around angrily. Her servants knew better than to disturb her during her training sessions but that did not stop a few stragglers from accidentally finding the room while she occupied it. Those who did came to very unfortunate and painful ends.
She smiled at the person she found standing next to her chair.
"Tristan, when did you return from your hunting," she asked.
Tristan looked coldly at both parties before responding. "I returned only recently, the servants told me that you would be in here."
"Are you going to supper with us my dear, Legias has informed me of new shipments of children coming in tomorrow, we have much planning to do"
Tristan did not move, "No mother, I will be retiring soon."
She walked over to her son and embraced him. Tristan and Legias' eyes met for a moment, both showed cold hatred. Mortiana stood back and placed a small kiss on Tristan's cheek.
"I will see you in the morning," she spoke before quickly turning, taking Legias' outstretched arm and exiting the room.
For a moment Tristan stared after them, listening to the receding sound of their footsteps and cold laughter. He hated Legias. His mother knew that and kept him from acting on his liking. He did not trust, but in all truth he did not trust his mother either. Tristan was bound to his mother, she had bore him, brought him up and trained him. In time he might take her kingdom, but he was never sure. The only thing he knew with any certainty is that he preferred to be left alone. Let her do what she will, it was of no concern to him. The only thing that concerned him was the wife of the Goblin King. He had viewed her once through one of his crystals. She was quite breathtaking. She was kind, compassionate and very head-strung. He wondered what his mother had in store for her, knowing that Jareth would be dead before she was completely satisfied.
After a few more moments he walked out of the room and headed to his room. Maybe he would sleep decently tonight. He hoped, but never expected.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tristan stood in his bedroom looking out the window at the desolate environment that lay before him. For as far as the eye could see under the bright light of the moonlight, he saw death and destruction and the evidence of his mother's iron grip on her kingdom. There wasn't any grass anywhere, only dirt. Any crops that Mortiana's kingdom possessed was obtained in raids into other kingdoms or with deals she made.
Tristan walked over to his bed and lay down. He stared up at the ceiling and listened to the faint sounds coming from outside. His bedroom was in one of the tallest towers in the castle but sound carried up into his room from the courtyards below. A few trolls who were on watch tonight played a card game near the campfires set up for warmth. Others talked in low voices. Tristan listened to them with vague interest. Hopefully their insistent droning would help him to sleep.
Suddenly a sharp pain filled Tristan's body and mind and he sat up breathing hard. He could not see for several minutes because his eyes were blinded with a white light. His body was shaking and he felt like he had just been trampled by a legion of horses. The sharpness of the pain slowly subsided but a dull ache stayed in his body.
He flicked his wrist and all the candlesticks in his room burst to life. He looked around the room trying to find, if it was even in his room, the reason or source for his pain.
He saw nothing save the normal surroundings of his room. His large four post bed carved out of wood and scorched with fire until black, his bureau, desk, table and dark brown curtains hanging from the single window.
He flicked his wrist again and all the candles extinguished themselves. He stood up and walked back over to his window. He sat down on the windowsill deep in thought. He ran his fingers through his long brown hair and sighed.
Looking out into the night he wondered what had happened. It quite possibly could have been his mother. Sometimes when she was angry with him she would cast spells on him to put him in physical or mental pain, but somehow this time seemed different. On a whim he drew a crystal and peered into it. It showed him what he had many times before looked at: Sarah. He was shocked at what he saw. He saw Sarah unconscious on the ground with Jareth and two other people running to her. Her hand was bleeding and several small shards of glass were sticking out of it. Her face was also cut, but not badly.
Tristan flicked his wrist and the crystal disappeared. His mother had cast a spell on Sarah. It looked to be a sleep enchantment spell. He walked back over to his bed and lay back down. Sleep enchantments were not something that his mother usually performed but he knew that she could do them.
He lay back on his bed and wondered as he slowly fell asleep. "Why did she do that to Sarah, and what does it have to do with what happened to me?"
