~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Jareth (His room)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I woke up with more in my head than ought to have been there. First was a
droning pain that made everything at once too bright and too blurry and
second was the grinding background hum of the Labyrinth that meant I was
still much too upset over the Sarah issue to get much done. I wobbled out
of bed at which Kenst chose to appear and half carry half drag me across my
bedroom to the bathroom where he left me on the edge of the tub.
Kenst is very thoughtful and caring when it comes to me, but not thoughtful or caring enough to fill the tub first. I found out after I had sat down in it that it was completely empty, and took five minutes finding the right temperature between dials that turned too much or not enough. I was particularly good at drinking liquors, just not particularly good at the aftereffects.
I realized I had to make a decision about Sarah. Seriously, not like the discussion in my study last night but an actual decision that I would be comfortable and proud of coming up with. I didn't think I would have her work as a maid, no I would probably be more content in leaving her to live in the library and bask in her reactions as she ate her way through my thousands of texts. I don't think that would satisfy her now though, although at one point it may have.
I added trips through the Labyrinth to her schedule, which may pacify her more but she'd need a guide. Actually a teacher would be best, one who could explain the various places and people that she may have read about in her books. Some sort of companionship too, perhaps I could arrange for. . .
I cut the thoughts short, in my mind I knew I had already decided on what to do, and was skipping around it because of how. . . because of how selfish it seemed to take the role of personal escort. Forget the fact that she is a mortal and three years ago I swore I'd bury it as the past. She had come back, and I would not be satisfied any other way. This way I could fix my own mistakes, correct notions about me and still have her turn to me for support. It was all I wanted and yet, there was something, sneaky about it.
Naturally, I'd have Bryn take her walking and on the rounds with him. She would have to learn something of self-defense as well, I wouldn't have her helpless should things go wrong. The library would be open to her use and I'd invite other friends to help guide her in magic and the history of the Underground.
Best to say. . . I was giving her a full underground education to make her understand what she was getting into by becoming a citizen. It would be bait she would gladly snatch up. Although. . . underneath it all I knew. . .
I was grooming her to be queen.
But I didn't want to admit that just yet, even though Bryn and Kenst already knew. I could tell they did when Bryn suggested killing her. When the Labyrinth began to shift minutes after she arrived. When I started on the brandy well before sunset. When I dismissed the rest of the petitioners so I could pull her from the peaceful sleep. When I told Kenst to reveal himself so the petitioners would move faster. They knew. . . but I couldn't admit it just yet.
Because if she knew me like I knew her. . . she would realize what I was doing. Or she would find out. And I didn't want that, because if she didn't come for any reason other than to apologize and become a citizen it would create a rift between us. And if she did come for other reasons then just to apologize then maybe she would accept it before I had to admit it.
I think that would be best.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Sarah (her room) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My hand tickled. Not the ticklish laugher invoking sensation but more like a tingle. It was a blended sense of a rapid lessening of pressure and the prickling feeling of a chill breeze. It reminded me heavily of water evaporating off my skin, only the back of my hand was still just slightly moist from when he had breathed out just after he had kissed it. I was intensely aware of that minute area. Much too aware for my own comfort.
I concluded that knowing that I loved him was much much easier then actually dealing with the fact that I did. Half of my mind was frantically trying to come up with an answer as to how I was going to deal with the entire thing when a simple kiss on my hand had reduced me to a state mirroring a conscious coma victim.
The other half was sulking that my first kiss had been on my hand instead of proper romantic style. I wasn't sure what that would do to me though, especially after this latest realization of my talent to short circuit in his presence.
At least I had said what I intended, this way if things went exactly I was hoping they didn't I'd still have that off my chest. He had accepted my apology and forgiven me and it looked as if we would be able to start anew. Hopefully.
He had left pretty quickly though, did that mean he held a grudge against me from last time? I knew from experience that even if people accepted your apology that didn't necessarily mean that they forgave you as well, some still harboring anger long after it was all but forgotten in my mind.
Jareth just didn't seem like that type of a person though. . .
He struck me as the type to keep to his word. Only to his word though, and the exact words at that. That was part of what I found interesting in him. . . attractive because of the gentile nature of it, because of the rarity of it at home even though it was such a small simple thing.
If there's such thing as love at first sight, mine was love at first mention. He had proudly swept into the scene in my newest fantasy novel with the air and poise only a Goblin King could achieve. The story seemed more detailed and real when he was in the picture, the events played out in my mind with such detail I could have counted the creases in the heroin's gown. Even the letters on the page were clearer, sharper somehow.
There were the smirks and the costumes, his wild hair and the double meaning teases. He could arch his eyebrow and wore heeled boots, rotate three crystals in his hand. Oh the magic. . . the beautifully pure yet deadly crystals that were a world in themselves. Vessels that could hold dreams, hopes, fears, salvation and defeat.
Then there was his arrogance too. . . not just any arrogance because I could have gone to school and gotten enough to last a lifetime. But his, it was rightful arrogance. Throughout the book he was the Goblin King, he was in control manipulated the game and held the child hostage watching with keen amusement and delight as the heroine came closer and closer. Taking each of her victories as a sign of a worthy opponent, rooting for her all along but being unmistakably on his own side, which she was against.
Right up to the point where she reached the castle he was confidence and power, sultry temptation but also gentlest care. Orchestrating the Labyrinth to at once challenge her and protect her, placing her in harms way but with the knowledge that no damage would be taken. I hadn't realized he had done the same for me until after many conversations with Hoggle and rereading the book several times.
That's what had captured me though, the perfection I'd always sought but never really knew I was looking for. It seemed too flawless, too precise to be real. So when he finally appeared it was no surprise that shock was my natural reaction.
I was young at the time, didn't understand the attraction as anything more than adoration. It hurt when he treated me like the child I realize I was. The condescending tone something that I'd heard many times before and would many times after that, it frustrated me because it wasn't deserved then. It wasn't deserved when he did it either, but he had more of a right to use it than my father or Karen.
He didn't know me, but they hadn't taken the time to know me, and wouldn't listen when I tried to tell them and didn't believe me when they did. So right from the beginning, I tried to be an equal. Mocked the difficulty and tried my best to get through the Labyrinth employing everything I could possibly think of. I wouldn't accept defeat.
Because. . . if I did loose, he would have had the right to speak to me like that. And that would mean that they were probably right too, to speak to me like I was a child. And I couldn't accept that, wouldn't accept that. Defeat wasn't not an option, I was already writing invitations to my victory party.
He was the person I wanted to be like, poised, elegant, surreal. Aloof with the knowledge that, yes, I was superior to them. That I knew what I was doing. That everything would come out okay.
He had always had that. Even right before she had said the words in the book, I could tell he knew she was going to say them. Yet he clung to the hope that her mind might change just before she said the words, endured until it was complete and then, and only then, accepted the defeat he knew had been coming. I love him for that too.
Sometimes it's difficult to remember that love though. Especially when he's acting the arrogant jerk.
Like locking me in this room.
I gave the doorknob one last wrenching twist that almost resulted in skinning my palm. That door was just about as likely to open as the wall next to it. My room had no windows, his planning also no doubt.
It would be mediocre to say I was angry with him. If someone had injected that chemical into me that forces you to tell the truth, I suppose I would describe my mood as furious with great respect to the planning that thwarted my every idea. However, without the clarifying drug, furious was all that came through.
In fact, if the interrogator hadn't specifically asked me to elaborate, with a "is rage all you feel?" or "Anything else?" I would probably have stuck to the furious answer and never given it a second thought.
There was little else to do though, the room was about as bare as a cell but appeared to be well kept. Besides the bed there was one chest of drawers and a side table, it was spotlessly clean though. By magical or simply an overzealous cleaning just before my arrival, I couldn't tell.
More for my own pride I tried the door one last time. I braced my feet against the wall gripped the knob with both hands and then pulled. When the knob unexpectedly turned I had the ill luck to tumble across the floor. I was just crowing my own success from the rooftops when my doorway was filled again with a person.
The person in black. Who had held a sword to me.
Salvation to damnation. Just my luck.
Kenst is very thoughtful and caring when it comes to me, but not thoughtful or caring enough to fill the tub first. I found out after I had sat down in it that it was completely empty, and took five minutes finding the right temperature between dials that turned too much or not enough. I was particularly good at drinking liquors, just not particularly good at the aftereffects.
I realized I had to make a decision about Sarah. Seriously, not like the discussion in my study last night but an actual decision that I would be comfortable and proud of coming up with. I didn't think I would have her work as a maid, no I would probably be more content in leaving her to live in the library and bask in her reactions as she ate her way through my thousands of texts. I don't think that would satisfy her now though, although at one point it may have.
I added trips through the Labyrinth to her schedule, which may pacify her more but she'd need a guide. Actually a teacher would be best, one who could explain the various places and people that she may have read about in her books. Some sort of companionship too, perhaps I could arrange for. . .
I cut the thoughts short, in my mind I knew I had already decided on what to do, and was skipping around it because of how. . . because of how selfish it seemed to take the role of personal escort. Forget the fact that she is a mortal and three years ago I swore I'd bury it as the past. She had come back, and I would not be satisfied any other way. This way I could fix my own mistakes, correct notions about me and still have her turn to me for support. It was all I wanted and yet, there was something, sneaky about it.
Naturally, I'd have Bryn take her walking and on the rounds with him. She would have to learn something of self-defense as well, I wouldn't have her helpless should things go wrong. The library would be open to her use and I'd invite other friends to help guide her in magic and the history of the Underground.
Best to say. . . I was giving her a full underground education to make her understand what she was getting into by becoming a citizen. It would be bait she would gladly snatch up. Although. . . underneath it all I knew. . .
I was grooming her to be queen.
But I didn't want to admit that just yet, even though Bryn and Kenst already knew. I could tell they did when Bryn suggested killing her. When the Labyrinth began to shift minutes after she arrived. When I started on the brandy well before sunset. When I dismissed the rest of the petitioners so I could pull her from the peaceful sleep. When I told Kenst to reveal himself so the petitioners would move faster. They knew. . . but I couldn't admit it just yet.
Because if she knew me like I knew her. . . she would realize what I was doing. Or she would find out. And I didn't want that, because if she didn't come for any reason other than to apologize and become a citizen it would create a rift between us. And if she did come for other reasons then just to apologize then maybe she would accept it before I had to admit it.
I think that would be best.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Sarah (her room) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My hand tickled. Not the ticklish laugher invoking sensation but more like a tingle. It was a blended sense of a rapid lessening of pressure and the prickling feeling of a chill breeze. It reminded me heavily of water evaporating off my skin, only the back of my hand was still just slightly moist from when he had breathed out just after he had kissed it. I was intensely aware of that minute area. Much too aware for my own comfort.
I concluded that knowing that I loved him was much much easier then actually dealing with the fact that I did. Half of my mind was frantically trying to come up with an answer as to how I was going to deal with the entire thing when a simple kiss on my hand had reduced me to a state mirroring a conscious coma victim.
The other half was sulking that my first kiss had been on my hand instead of proper romantic style. I wasn't sure what that would do to me though, especially after this latest realization of my talent to short circuit in his presence.
At least I had said what I intended, this way if things went exactly I was hoping they didn't I'd still have that off my chest. He had accepted my apology and forgiven me and it looked as if we would be able to start anew. Hopefully.
He had left pretty quickly though, did that mean he held a grudge against me from last time? I knew from experience that even if people accepted your apology that didn't necessarily mean that they forgave you as well, some still harboring anger long after it was all but forgotten in my mind.
Jareth just didn't seem like that type of a person though. . .
He struck me as the type to keep to his word. Only to his word though, and the exact words at that. That was part of what I found interesting in him. . . attractive because of the gentile nature of it, because of the rarity of it at home even though it was such a small simple thing.
If there's such thing as love at first sight, mine was love at first mention. He had proudly swept into the scene in my newest fantasy novel with the air and poise only a Goblin King could achieve. The story seemed more detailed and real when he was in the picture, the events played out in my mind with such detail I could have counted the creases in the heroin's gown. Even the letters on the page were clearer, sharper somehow.
There were the smirks and the costumes, his wild hair and the double meaning teases. He could arch his eyebrow and wore heeled boots, rotate three crystals in his hand. Oh the magic. . . the beautifully pure yet deadly crystals that were a world in themselves. Vessels that could hold dreams, hopes, fears, salvation and defeat.
Then there was his arrogance too. . . not just any arrogance because I could have gone to school and gotten enough to last a lifetime. But his, it was rightful arrogance. Throughout the book he was the Goblin King, he was in control manipulated the game and held the child hostage watching with keen amusement and delight as the heroine came closer and closer. Taking each of her victories as a sign of a worthy opponent, rooting for her all along but being unmistakably on his own side, which she was against.
Right up to the point where she reached the castle he was confidence and power, sultry temptation but also gentlest care. Orchestrating the Labyrinth to at once challenge her and protect her, placing her in harms way but with the knowledge that no damage would be taken. I hadn't realized he had done the same for me until after many conversations with Hoggle and rereading the book several times.
That's what had captured me though, the perfection I'd always sought but never really knew I was looking for. It seemed too flawless, too precise to be real. So when he finally appeared it was no surprise that shock was my natural reaction.
I was young at the time, didn't understand the attraction as anything more than adoration. It hurt when he treated me like the child I realize I was. The condescending tone something that I'd heard many times before and would many times after that, it frustrated me because it wasn't deserved then. It wasn't deserved when he did it either, but he had more of a right to use it than my father or Karen.
He didn't know me, but they hadn't taken the time to know me, and wouldn't listen when I tried to tell them and didn't believe me when they did. So right from the beginning, I tried to be an equal. Mocked the difficulty and tried my best to get through the Labyrinth employing everything I could possibly think of. I wouldn't accept defeat.
Because. . . if I did loose, he would have had the right to speak to me like that. And that would mean that they were probably right too, to speak to me like I was a child. And I couldn't accept that, wouldn't accept that. Defeat wasn't not an option, I was already writing invitations to my victory party.
He was the person I wanted to be like, poised, elegant, surreal. Aloof with the knowledge that, yes, I was superior to them. That I knew what I was doing. That everything would come out okay.
He had always had that. Even right before she had said the words in the book, I could tell he knew she was going to say them. Yet he clung to the hope that her mind might change just before she said the words, endured until it was complete and then, and only then, accepted the defeat he knew had been coming. I love him for that too.
Sometimes it's difficult to remember that love though. Especially when he's acting the arrogant jerk.
Like locking me in this room.
I gave the doorknob one last wrenching twist that almost resulted in skinning my palm. That door was just about as likely to open as the wall next to it. My room had no windows, his planning also no doubt.
It would be mediocre to say I was angry with him. If someone had injected that chemical into me that forces you to tell the truth, I suppose I would describe my mood as furious with great respect to the planning that thwarted my every idea. However, without the clarifying drug, furious was all that came through.
In fact, if the interrogator hadn't specifically asked me to elaborate, with a "is rage all you feel?" or "Anything else?" I would probably have stuck to the furious answer and never given it a second thought.
There was little else to do though, the room was about as bare as a cell but appeared to be well kept. Besides the bed there was one chest of drawers and a side table, it was spotlessly clean though. By magical or simply an overzealous cleaning just before my arrival, I couldn't tell.
More for my own pride I tried the door one last time. I braced my feet against the wall gripped the knob with both hands and then pulled. When the knob unexpectedly turned I had the ill luck to tumble across the floor. I was just crowing my own success from the rooftops when my doorway was filled again with a person.
The person in black. Who had held a sword to me.
Salvation to damnation. Just my luck.