Author's Note: Um, this is a little cruel. But then with what Jareth's dabbling in, he's a cruel man. He always has been; he always will be. Don't let's forget that, hmmm?
Author's Note 2: I have no rights to either 'Width of a Circle' (which is one of the best songs I have ever heard ever) or 'Magic Dance' (where the lyrics suck but the song's cute). Both belong to the oh-so-wonderful Mr. David Bowie (may he never stop singing) and the usual people who accompany these things.
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She had been huddled there for three days now. Food would magically appear at every mealtime. Naturally, she had not eaten at all from the first meal. But it looked edible enough. And by the end of the second day she had been ravenous enough to eat the delicately cooked food and fresh fruit. A crystal glass appeared every three hours and she had been relieved to find that it contained nothing but water.
There were no drugs, no corpses... no physically harmful things at all.
But the agony of knowing, of festering in her prison as the taste of that blood replayed over her tongue and the sight of those silvered eyes replayed in her mind, was too much. And Jareth hadn't stopped his assault. He would talk to her all day, a disembodied voice in the room that wouldn't leave no matter what she did.
And when that was not enough, he would sing, the eerie sound echoing as the images he magicked onto the walls replayed like an Aboveground movie on the walls of the room.
"In a corner of the morning in the past... I would sit and blame the Master first and last... all the roads were straight and narrow... and the prayers were small and yellow..."
It was unnatural, the way that soft crooning voice hissed so close to her ear, unsupported by its usual music from nowhere. Amarild whirled around, eyes wide in fear. But there was no one behind her. There never was.
"And the rumour spread that I was aging fast..."
Aging? The Fairy Queen almost laughed. Not aging in the least, her old nemesis. Beauty incarnate with his bloodless skin and blazing eyes. Whatever trace age had left on his face was removed as black magic wound its way through his body. She could taste it in the air, in his disembodied voice, in the way her own blood thrilled at his very presence.
"Well, I said hello and I said hello... And I asked, "Why not?" and I replied, "I dunno"..."
Why not, indeed! The seductive drawl of the words. And Jareth's clever mind... he'd known how he could use that one night she'd played with him. The images were whirling around her, the way his tongue had felt tickling her stomach, the way three of his fingers had fit so perfectly inside her. Dear Gods, what amounts of energy was he drawing into himself to accomplish such an elaborate charade?
"And I smashed my soul and traded my mind... got laid by a young bordello... I was vaguely half-asleep... for which my reputation swept back home in drag..."
All the images meshed suddenly so that she was staring, terrified, at the two bodies entwined on the damp sheets, his tied hands squirming as she used... how could she have done that? The pain! She could smell it on the wraith-like unreality; she hadn't even noticed it then. And the demon sitting beside the bed watching them.
"And the morals of this magic spell negotiate my hide... when God did take my logic for a ride..."
The husky voice was hissing in her ear and all of a sudden, a wet tongue lashed at her earlobe. It was too much. All of it! The nights spent in half-asleep nightmares, the days spent in watchful fear... three days and she was going mad.
Amarild screamed as a cold hand brushed against her neck and she pushed away from the wall and ran from the room, leaving the images to scrawl their horrible contents over the walls. She wasn't like that; she wasn't that person. She was sorry, dear heaven, she was sorry.
The sharp clatter of her feet on the stone and the corridor wound around and around, the beat becoming sharper and fiercer, more sensuous. It pounded through her, like staccato twangs of an electric guitar. Her breath came short.
And then suddenly there was fire and tangible music, hot and flaming and a figure like crystal ice standing in front of her, a malicious smirk on his blue-tinged lips. Dressed in a disconcerting white lace robe, one long leg tantalizingly hinted at where the ragged ends of a slit side fell away from flesh. The slender waist was cinched with a leather whip, shoulders bare where the dress-like garment slipped off.
Blood dotted the entire apparition, staining the lace and the silver-white skin. But those eyes! Those pretty eyes- now silver with the different sized pupils- darkened at the edges with black. It reminded her of the girls she had seen Aboveground on the streets, the ones who offered their 'services' for money.
A white hand held that infernal goblet out to her.
"He swallowed his pride and puckered his lips... and showed me the leather belt round his hips... my knees were shaking my cheeks a-flame..."
Amarild felt the blush on her face, flushed from running and from the sneer on his face. Her hair was dishevelled and her pride almost broken. And he stood there like some fantastical creature of another realm, too magical and otherworldly even for the Underground, the glory of revenge incarnate. Perhaps he would have pity on her?
"...You'll never go down to the Gods again..."
She fell to her knees as the words were bitten out with proud relish. There would be no mercy. Jareth's gaze burned into her as he approached slowly, silent on his feet where the pounding of her running steps till sounded above the crackle of flame. The goblet was still held out to her.
"... and I smelt the burning pit of fear..."
She took the goblet with trembling fingers, raising it despairingly to her lips. Amarild could see no other option for herself. She would meet her death head-on. Jareth would not let her live after that night when she'd taken that hideous wooden thing and... The blood exploded on her tongue.
"... we crashed a thousand yards below..." His fingers took her chin, lifting it insistently to his sneering smirk. "I said do it again, do it again..."
She would not cry, but her body shivered out her fear and final plea for mercy.
That voice continued, the music swelling around the stinging words, so sexual and so provocative. She was lost. There was no more hope. The whip was unbelted from around that slender waist. She cringed down, offering her back for what she knew would come, hating herself for being unable to fight any more.
"Breathe, breathe, breathe deeply... and I was seething, breathing deeply... spitting sentry horned and tailed..."
The crack of the whip and it snapped around her right hand without so much as breaking the skin.
"... waiting for you".
The music faded, the words were still.
Amarild dared to look up when several heartbeats passed with no sense of movement around her. She was alone once more, this time in the kitchens. No figure in white lace; no glimpse of long pale leg; no burning, blazing, mascaraed eyes: just the empty basements of the kitchens with the worn flagstones and the spotless stoves and instruments. A butcher's knife lay discarded on the scrubbed wooden tabletop and she snatched it up, rising to her feet as she stared suspiciously around.
Nothing.
But in the cold light of reason and clear-headedness, she was infuriated with herself and him even more. "Jareth, come out," she called, "You want to fight? Then fight! You take the coward's way out."
The Queen was shivering in the kitchens; Jareth sneered as he watched her through his crystal. With a quick laugh, he began to weave his spell once more. Just once more before he ended this game. And with a special song.
The former Goblin King called to the winds and the storms, winding them tight around his Labyrinth as he gathered the energy to himself. It was not necessary, but the heightened awareness of power and greatness was more than he could resist. The Labyrinth itself was inside him, vast and immeasurable as a chasm filled with uncountable grains of sand.
The goblins trembled in fear.
The lands trembled in fear.
Amarild tried to draw what remained of her strength of mind back around her. Gathering her courage, she got to her feet, knife held warningly in her hand. The Goblin King was terrifyingly magic-maddened, but his flesh was not impenetrable. She comforted herself with that thought, shivering in the enforced tension of a deathly still stone room. Or what had been deathly still.
"I saw my baby..."
The ghost of a voice, too near her shoulder. She whirled but there was none there.
"Crying hard as babe could cry...what could I do... my baby's love had gone... and left my baby blue..."
"Jareth, stop it."
"... nobody knew... what kind of magic spell to use..."
The pans fell off the wall, and Amarild waited to hear them clatter to the floor but nothing happened. They hovered there, floating calmly around the room.
"... frogs and snails... puppy dogs tails... thunder or lightening... then baby said..."
Silence.
Her nerves screeched, waiting to hear what would come next. She was beginning to wish that her adversary would keep singing, just so she knew what he was doing. When there was silence, it meant that he was planning something. It meant something new that she couldn't fight against.
"I saw my baby... trying hard as babe could try... what could I do... my baby's fun had gone... and left my baby blue..."
The entire kitchen was coming alive and before the words could continue a tremendous earthquake shook the room, almost dragging it from side to side as the Castle shuddered from its foundations up.
Amarild cried out as her ankle twisted and she dropped the knife. She scrambled after it, but another quake came and she almost lost her balance. Strong arms scooped her up and she felt the wind as she disappeared. Then the wind was real against her face as she was dropped harshly to the ground on her bottom, the sharp click of boot heels tapping away from her.
Breathing heavily she opened her eyes.
Jareth was looking out over his Kingdom with his back to her. Dressed in a plum coat with grey leggings. Black boots gleaming up his legs to knee-high. The wind was whipping his hair from his face and she studied him fearfully from behind.
Thinking dispassionately, now, in the cruel light of sunlight, she didn't know what she was so terrified of. She could fight him; her magic was as strong and her will as great. If he killed her, then so much the better. She would die nobly, still in honour as a Queen and noblewoman. Her brother would take the throne and Armand was not as strong, but he would avenge her.
"Turn," she called, struggling to her feet amidst the folds of the dirty rose gown she wore, "Turn and fight me like a true King."
Jareth turned obediently, but only smirked coldly at her. She could barely see the silver of his irises from that distance away and the effect was peculiar. "You will not win," he shrugged, "Why try? I can offer you a deal."
Three dark crystals were in his hands and he played with them absently, picked one up and sending it far into the sky where it turned into a crow and flew away. Amarild gulped. The action warned of great power and no scruples against using the darkest means necessary to obtaining what he wanted. "What deal?"
A shark-like smile and the second crystal suffered the same fate as the first. "Renounce your throne publicly, and give it to your brother. Live by his side and enjoy the Fae Court; I really do not care. But, and you had better listen carefully, if I find you ruling through Prince Armand, I will find you. And I will kill you. Myself."
"Then you will declare war on us and we will fight this battle until the fae or goblin are all dead." Her voice cracked slightly, but she held her head up. Amarild was of royal blood; she could bear pain or death for her pride. "Is this what you condemn us to?"
Jareth shrugged again. Before Amarild could blink she was bound hand and foot and dragged to his side, his gloved hand grasping roughly at her arm as he pointed to his Labyrinth. "My people will survive the chaos you have created in my Kingdom. What would you face, were I to destroy your docks with one single word?" He snapped his fingers and she felt a band of energy tighten around her heart and begin to squeeze. "Do you doubt I can do that?"
The blood was pounding in her veins with a painful intensity. She couldn't breath. It hurt too much. The Fairy Queen shook her head violently, twisting in the cruel grip.
Jareth nodded almost pleasantly. "Good. Do you renounce your throne?" The band of energy vanished and she gulped in a few deep breathes. "You have not answered."
"No," she said quickly, "No, I do not."
She stiffened, waited for the pain, waited for the burst of her heart as Jareth exploded it within her breast. But nothing more than a sigh greeted her treachery.
"I had thought you would say that," he said, regretfully, "I am sorry, my dear." Without a word, he flicked his fingers through the air and picked out a familiar red metal collar. Without a word, he clasped it around her neck and then twisted the clasp so that it could not be undone. "Was that your final answer?"
"Yes. It is my Kingdom. I will not give it up," Amarild declared.
Jareth half-turned to an unnoticed figure behind them. "Prince Armand," he called smoothly, "You have witnessed this?"
Amarild gasped as she faced her brother's stony face, the crimson streaks of their house glimmering in the sunlight on his head. His brown eyes were cold and distant. "You cannot," she screamed, feeling herself dragged towards the edge of the parapet by Jareth's strong hand.
"You had a choice," Jareth pointed out, "You chose death on capture."
"They will know," Amarild babbled, dignity breaking as she was lifted up and held over the edge in the Goblin King's arms. "Armand, they will know you conspired for my demise. There will be an uprising. And Jareth has no legal cause to kill me. The war is over; peace is declared. He cannot kill me!"
Jareth smirked. "I can kill you, my sweet Queen. I am the Goblin King." Sure enough, the medallion glittered on his chest, just as it had always done since the day of his coronation until the day he had given it to his consort in his stead. "The entirety of your Kingdom and mine is watching this trial, Amarild. This way is much better than a beheading, do you not think? That is usually preceded by torture and my sword is rusty. You will die quicker with this."
"Armard, please! I am your sister!"
The Fae Prince looked uncomfortable and rather sad, but at Jareth's sharp look he shook his chestnut head at his sister and sighed, "Family must be denied when duty demands it."
Jareth let go and Amarild's bound body dropped.