Chapter Two:
"And that's it. I returned home as if nothing had ever happened. That is until now. That man
lying there is the Goblin King."
"So who's the warrior?" Heather asked.
The warrior, had remained silent through Sarah's tale, one might think he was brooding, but in
reality he was fatigued, and had not the energy to speak his name. But his eyes kept drifting to
Heather, he watched her every move, her every breath, as if with a turn of her head, she would
reveal all her secrets, even those she did not know she possessed.
Now, Heather knew very well that he had been watching her, yet oddly enough she did not feel
uncomfortable under his stare. It was, to her, as if they were simply communicating without the
need for words. If she were to think about that more she probably would have felt awkward, but
as it stands she did not, so it did not bother her.
"He needs sleep." She said before she realized what she was saying. The warrior nodded at
her, and Heather got the distinct impression that he had either read her mind or put the thought
there. Mentally, she shook herself, trying to disentangle whatever it was that had connected them
for that brief moment.
"He can sleep in the guest bedroom." Sarah spoke up. Her eyes hadn't left Jareth, since the
ending of her story, and they weren't about to leave him now.
Heather looked at Sarah, who seemed lost in the world she had just spoken of so lovingly, as
she gazed at the injured Goblin King.
"Well I guess I'll show you where it is. It's right up stairs. Do you think you can climb the
stairs?" Heather realized she was babbling as the warrior stood up to follow her.
The room was your typical everyday, never used, guest bedroom. Ambiguously decorated to
no one's offence, with sappy, hotel looking, paintings, and beige colored bed clothing. The man
looked around him as if he had never seen anything so dreadful in his life. Heather saw the look.
"Sarah's step-mother decorated it. Awful isn't it." The man said nothing, but expertly removed
his belt with one hand and sat it, gladius and all, on the floor. He then knelt down and removed
his shin guards with one hand. When it came to the sectional that he was going to have trouble. It
was buckled on the side, and he couldn't reach it with his good hand. Heather stepped up and
unbuckled it without his permission, helping him remove it. He turned to give his thanks when
she gasped.
"Your cut," She said pointing to his cheek. "It's gone!"
"We do that." He said offering no more explanation.
"What do you mean?"
The weary look returned to his eyes. He reached over to his sword and pulled a small dagger
hidden expertly behind the sheath.
"Give me your hand." He spoke softly.
Heather hesitated, but relented quickly placing her delicate hand within his masculine one. He
then took his dagger and drew the point across the fleshy part of her palm leaving a small scratch.
Heather made not a noise of pain. He admired her for that.
"Now heal it." He said.
"But I can't. I don't know what you are, but I can't heal wounds."
"Yes you can. Try"
Heather looked at her palm. Then back to the man. He seemed as if he were trying to tell her
something by what he was doing. His eyes were compassion.
"Try." He repeated.
"How?" She said looking at him.
"Feel the cut. Then feel everything that connects it, force the broken ends back together."
Heather did as she was told focusing all her willpower on the cut. She watched as the wound
closed before her eyes.
"Oh my God." She gasped.
"Jareth isn't unconscious. He is healing his wounds. At the moment they are just taking all his
energy, but he can hear everything said to him, or about him. He is different than me. But you and
I are the same, and we're not like the other girl either" He said, to a very confused Heather.
"Please, I will explain things tomorrow."
"Yes." Was all she said, before leaving him. Holding her hand she left the room, she could
already hear the creak of the bedsprings as she walked down the stairs.
"And that's it. I returned home as if nothing had ever happened. That is until now. That man
lying there is the Goblin King."
"So who's the warrior?" Heather asked.
The warrior, had remained silent through Sarah's tale, one might think he was brooding, but in
reality he was fatigued, and had not the energy to speak his name. But his eyes kept drifting to
Heather, he watched her every move, her every breath, as if with a turn of her head, she would
reveal all her secrets, even those she did not know she possessed.
Now, Heather knew very well that he had been watching her, yet oddly enough she did not feel
uncomfortable under his stare. It was, to her, as if they were simply communicating without the
need for words. If she were to think about that more she probably would have felt awkward, but
as it stands she did not, so it did not bother her.
"He needs sleep." She said before she realized what she was saying. The warrior nodded at
her, and Heather got the distinct impression that he had either read her mind or put the thought
there. Mentally, she shook herself, trying to disentangle whatever it was that had connected them
for that brief moment.
"He can sleep in the guest bedroom." Sarah spoke up. Her eyes hadn't left Jareth, since the
ending of her story, and they weren't about to leave him now.
Heather looked at Sarah, who seemed lost in the world she had just spoken of so lovingly, as
she gazed at the injured Goblin King.
"Well I guess I'll show you where it is. It's right up stairs. Do you think you can climb the
stairs?" Heather realized she was babbling as the warrior stood up to follow her.
The room was your typical everyday, never used, guest bedroom. Ambiguously decorated to
no one's offence, with sappy, hotel looking, paintings, and beige colored bed clothing. The man
looked around him as if he had never seen anything so dreadful in his life. Heather saw the look.
"Sarah's step-mother decorated it. Awful isn't it." The man said nothing, but expertly removed
his belt with one hand and sat it, gladius and all, on the floor. He then knelt down and removed
his shin guards with one hand. When it came to the sectional that he was going to have trouble. It
was buckled on the side, and he couldn't reach it with his good hand. Heather stepped up and
unbuckled it without his permission, helping him remove it. He turned to give his thanks when
she gasped.
"Your cut," She said pointing to his cheek. "It's gone!"
"We do that." He said offering no more explanation.
"What do you mean?"
The weary look returned to his eyes. He reached over to his sword and pulled a small dagger
hidden expertly behind the sheath.
"Give me your hand." He spoke softly.
Heather hesitated, but relented quickly placing her delicate hand within his masculine one. He
then took his dagger and drew the point across the fleshy part of her palm leaving a small scratch.
Heather made not a noise of pain. He admired her for that.
"Now heal it." He said.
"But I can't. I don't know what you are, but I can't heal wounds."
"Yes you can. Try"
Heather looked at her palm. Then back to the man. He seemed as if he were trying to tell her
something by what he was doing. His eyes were compassion.
"Try." He repeated.
"How?" She said looking at him.
"Feel the cut. Then feel everything that connects it, force the broken ends back together."
Heather did as she was told focusing all her willpower on the cut. She watched as the wound
closed before her eyes.
"Oh my God." She gasped.
"Jareth isn't unconscious. He is healing his wounds. At the moment they are just taking all his
energy, but he can hear everything said to him, or about him. He is different than me. But you and
I are the same, and we're not like the other girl either" He said, to a very confused Heather.
"Please, I will explain things tomorrow."
"Yes." Was all she said, before leaving him. Holding her hand she left the room, she could
already hear the creak of the bedsprings as she walked down the stairs.
