Chapter Thirteen: Something Rich and Strange
"I'd like to meet Daedalus," Sarah announced at the end of her daily magic lesson, just as she was standing up to go. It was near noon, but the windowless room let no sunlight in. Only an old clock (marked with thirteen numerals) gave a clue as to the time of day. The study was lit, as always, by the fire in the fireplace and the ever-present candles. The Goblin King was perusing the bookshelves hung on the wall and answered Sarah absently.
"Is that so?"
"I've been looking for him for the past two weeks, but Addie refuses to give me any directions. No one else knows where he lives."
"Hmm." Jareth didn't seem to be paying attention; Sarah scowled at his back.
"Any helpful hints?" she asked pointedly.
"No."
"Why not? Do you not know where he lives?" A lame attempt at reverse psychology. Jareth paused long enough from his searching to send Sarah a derisive look.
"Don't insult my intelligence with your feeble attempts at manipulation."
"So you do know where he lives."
"Of course I do. But I won't tell you; if Daedalus wants to be found, he'll let you find him."
"Jareth," pronounced Sarah, throwing her hands up, "You are excellent at sucking every droplet of fun out of life."
"One of the many things that I excel at," he muttered; then, pausing, he pulled a book from the shelves. "Take this," he said, tossing it behind him. Sarah uttered a quiet yelp before realizing that the book was hovering down to meet her, rather than hurtling. She grabbed it out of the air and studied it. The cover was dull dark red, somewhat battered, and unmarked by title or author. It was around two inches thick; the paper was thick and slightly uneven, yellowing at the edges.
"What is it?" she asked curiously.
"A book." He smirked at her irritated look. "It is your homework. That is the word that human children use, isn't it?"
"Unfortunately," murmured Sarah. "You're giving me homework?"
"Quite. Read it—it's about magical theory. I'm sure it will do you good."
"Wow, thanks. Don't you have any more interesting books you could give me?" Sarah opened it and flipped through—paragraph upon paragraph of tiny words, interrupted every so often by a sketchy diagram. Yikes.
"There is a larger library here in the castle. You can borrow any book in it that you like." He paused. "If you can find it." Once a villainous Goblin King, always a villainous Goblin King. Sarah felt like a lab rat in an infinite maze. "But do make sure that you finish this one."
"Is there a deadline?" asked Sarah sourly.
"Not at all," he replied, flashing a smile that was as compelling as it was unsettling. "You have all the time in the world. Now go away. I have another appointment to attend to."
Twenty-eight days had given Sarah some sense of familiarity toward the Goblin King. But sometimes... sometimes... he made her very nervous. She did not beg or plead to be sent home, as that had never worked in the past. The girl did her work and learned as best she could, keeping an ear open for any sign of escape. Well, perhaps escape was too strong a word. She led a pampered life in comparison to other prisoners; it seemed almost unfair to call it imprisonment. The life she had left behind was drab and boring, filled with small highs and shallow lows. At times it was almost too tedious to bear. Here, she was learning magic, she was fraternizing with goblins and dwarves and mythical princesses. By all rights she should have been happy, and she was, in odd moments when she forgot that she was marooned there. Even some of her magic lessons were enjoyable, when Jareth became Jareth-the-Professor and stopped being insufferable.
But there was always a sense of guilt and wrongness in the back of her mind, tainting her life in the Goblin Kingdom. The human mind can only handle strong emotions for so long before they dissolve into less extreme things. The fear and anger—nay, fury—that she had felt at her arrival had ebbed, leaving only traces behind. This enabled her to function well in day -to-day life, but it was not exactly comfortable. Guilt for leaving her family and friends without a word of warning plagued her, guilt for causing them worry. Maybe she sometimes liked Jareth (she knew this, though she wouldn't admit to herself that she did)... but he had trapped her, tricked her, stolen her. Sarah couldn't forgive that. It wasn't right. You couldn't just do that to people, no matter what your motives were.
So she left the study, book in hand, feeling disquiet roiling in her stomach but resisting the lure of an argument. She ate lunch, as was her routine, left the book on her little table, and pondered her daily Exploration.
Sarah wasn't sure what drove her outside of the castle; a simple escape from boredom, sure, but that wasn't quite all. Maybe she was storing up memories against her return to the more mundane Aboveground. How often does one get a chance to see unicorns, after all? Not that she had seen any, but Meggedy assured her that they were there. She had explored the breadth of the Otherwood in the company of foundlings, and had attended a bazaar in the Goblin City with Antonius and Benedict at her side. Timidity had kept her out of the Labyrinth Proper.
Today, the sky outside was gray and ominous—at the edge of horizon, Sarah could see thunderheads rolling in. Perhaps an outdoor journey would be ill-advised, she decided when she looked out of her chamber windows. Meteorology wasn't one of her fortés, but common sense said that rain was approaching. My options, then: staying in here and sleeping, staying in here and reading that book, or exploring the castle. Hmm. She glanced at the red book sitting heavily on the table. Not too appealing.
Alright. She'd look for the library. Maybe she'd get lucky and find a copy of The Hobbit there.
Sarah had gained a working knowledge of the castle's layout in the past weeks, but it was strictly practical. She could find her room, sitting lonely in a hallway of unused guest chambers. She could find Jareth's study, which lay in a bank of administrative offices (a week ago she had met Castor the gnome, who acted as Jareth's steward). She could find the kitchens, manned by a small army of smarter-than-average goblins, and she could find the room where she ate dinner with the king. She could find the throne room.
Beyond that, ignorance reigned.
Logic told her that the library wouldn't be on her floor, so she began her search on a lower level. Down, down, down the stairs, and past the throne room to places she'd never been. The corridors there were dusty and empty, as all of them tended to be. It lacked the clerestory of her own home-hallway, so large torches lit the space—Sarah felt rather as though she was exploring some ancient tomb. Hieroglyphics on the wall would have added to the atmosphere perfectly.
The girl came to a set of large doors, the first since the throne room. They were taller than she was, with a large roaring lion head carved onto each one. They gazed down at her fiercely, eyes flaming and jaws gnashing, frozen in a moment. She could almost feel the spittle flying from their teeth as they snarled.
She pulled at the door handle feebly, not sure that she wanted to venture into a room guarded by such beasts. The door didn't budge; Sarah dropped the handle quickly and it clanged against its metal rest. One of the lions lunged a few inches out of the wood, feet above her, muscles straining down toward her body—Sarah gasped sharply and jumped backward, but it couldn't reach her. The other lion opened its jaws wider in a soundless cry. Sarah backed away, startled, and went quickly back down the passageway.
No way was she trying that room again.
Farther onward, then. Her path turned sharply around a corner, but still no doors came in sight. She crept down the hall for an interminable amount of time, maybe a minute, maybe five, maybe ten.
Then she emerged into a light-filled crossroads, five halls branching off from the one nexus. It was tall, pentagonal; the clerestory was back and the ceiling was domed, soaring far above Sarah's head. There was stained glass involved, but she couldn't decipher the pattern from where she stood. A five-pointed star was inlaid on the floor in pale marble and the stained glass decorated it with shards of brilliant hues. They were more than random color; Sarah looked closer and saw pictures projected onto each point of the star.
How odd. One would think that the pictures would move based on the position of the sun. Maybe they did. Maybe the rooms did too. Maybe the light here had no relation to the sun outside. Sarah had learned to take nothing for granted in the Goblin Kingdom.
On one point, the one pointing towards Sarah, lay a crude beast—the lion? On another was a red rosette, followed by a blue crescent moon, a pale bird, and... a book. It was definitely a book. Sarah grinned triumphantly. It didn't take a rocket scientist to know that the library was down the corresponding passageway. She went off in that direction, squashing the urge to whistle; the silence was heavy and nearly complete, the kind of quiet that was painful to break. The girl found a set of doors almost immediately, these emblazoned with a griffin carved in relief. It looked down at her benevolently, unmoving. Quite reassuring. Sarah pulled at that tarnished ring that served as a handle and was gratified when the door swung silently opened.
The library lay before her in all its glory, a bibliophile's wet dream.
It was octagonal, possessing three more walls than the star area, and the ceiling was at least twenty feet over head. Three sections of the octagon were devoted to window space, which stretched from ceiling to floor, but the rest was plastered with shelving and filled with books. A narrow walkway created something of a second floor, allowing access to the highest shelves; rolling ladders were attached to the shelves, much to Sarah's glee, to assist in book-finding. For once, the space wasn't lined with stone—there was wood paneling instead, a warm cherry that matched the shelves and the ladders. The floor was pale marble. A few heavy tables sat in the floor space and several sumptuous armchairs had scattered themselves about the room.
"Oh," she breathed, almost soundlessly, taking in the room. The girl took half a step forward, fingers flexing as if they couldn't wait to reach out to the books. The book-lover in her soul was screaming with frantic glee. Books... books... everywhere.
She moved forward, out of the door way and toward the opposite wall. Her eyes stroked over the many-colored spines when she reached the shelves, perusing feverishly for something familiar. A brassy placard caught her eye, small and unobtrusive as it was. Underground History, it said politely in fine copperplate script. She mouthed the words in response and read titles: The Southern Coast: 900-1159, Marius of Marit, The Princes of Allorin, A Narrative of the 50-Year War.
A short hiss interrupted her search. Sarah whirled around, startled, looking for the source of the sudden noise. The hiss repeated itself, this time broken and rhythmic—like laughter, almost.
"His Majesty's pet, I presume." Words now, though they retained the harsh sibilance of the laughter. Sarah caught a glimpse of movement—on a dark table edge, near her, a small luminous shape. Something clicked in Sarah's head.
"Lord Fellmarch?" she said uncertainly, disconcerted and somewhat confused. She remembered the malignant little marsh light from Jareth's whatever-it-was, Court session, weeks before. Question was, what was he doing in the castle library?
"Correct," he confirmed, clipping the word off sharply.
"I didn't... expect to find you here," said Sarah obliquely. She stared at the marsh light. He unnerved her more than a little; there was something indefinably creepy about shining, naked little men with dragonfly wings and pointy razor teeth.
"Didn't think that a marsh light would be capable of reading?" he asked venomously. Sarah blinked, searching for an answer.
"Er. I didn't mean that at all. I'm just surprised to see you here in the castle, rather than your own domain."
"His Majesty summoned the lords of his demesne for our monthly gathering." Fellmarch spoke as if she should have known what he was talking about. "I am a nocturnal creature by preference, so I arrived in the dark of night and will leave in the dark of night. In the mean time... I do what I please."
"The light in here doesn't bother you?" Curiosity, as always, pricked.
"I stick to the shadows. The collection here is worth braving the sunlight."
Question answered. The marsh light twitched his iridescent wings, stretching. He tossed head, silvery hair thrown behind him, and gave Sarah a sideways glance.
"I hear that you have acquired a pretty new necklace," he said silkily, almost coyly, looking at her through near-invisible eyelashes. The remark caught her off-guard.
"I.." What on earth is this about? "So I have."
"Might I see it?" This in a mock-innocent tone. Wholly ineffective, coming from the eerie and knowing voice. Sarah pulled at the chain around her neck, lifting the gold pendant out of her bodice. She held it out tentatively so he could see. Fellmarch crossed his arms and padded closer to the very edge of the table.
"How interesting." He made 'interesting' sound like a very bad thing to be. "Pet, indeed."
Sarah really wanted to be angry—somewhere in the back of her head, she was angry—but the entire situation was too weird for the emotion to really take hold.
I have a bad feeling about this. This is an anomaly. Nothing good ever comes of anomalies. Probably I should leave the room right now before he turns into some raving demon and eats me. Or kidnaps me. Kidnapping is more likely, the way things are going now.
Often, when Sarah was worried, she would experience diarrhea of the brain. This was one occurrence.
"I'm no pet," she said, contempt seeping into her voice on the last word. She let the necklace drop back against her body and crossed her arms over her chest.
"Perhaps not. Strange—when I first saw you, I thought you were human." He cocked his head to the side like a bird studying a wriggling earthworm. Sarah's mouth opened and no sound came out.
"I am a human," she said with a furrowed brow, recalling a conversation she had with Benedict and Antonius: but I am a human. "Your first guess was right."
"You can do magic, my lady," he replied gravely. "Humans cannot do magic. Therefore, by the rules of logic, you are not human."
"My, information travels fast," Sarah muttered under her breath. Then, louder, "I wasn't born with magic, Jareth gave it to me when I solved the Labyrinth. There's a difference."
"Not in your case." Lord Fellmarch seemed to be enjoying himself, smiling a wicked smile.
"Look, I don't know where you're going with this," started Sarah impatiently, "but you're wrong. I'm going to go look at the books now. Nice talking to you." She began to walk on past Fellmarch's table, to the other side of the large room.
"I would listen, if I were you," the marsh light said ominously to her back. Sarah stopped, sighed, and turned around again.
"I don't think so. I think that you're playing with me, like you play with trolls in the marshlands."
"Then let me indulge my curiosity," he said. "Wait a moment."
Sarah, exasperated now, stood still. She didn't know what she was expecting; Fellmarch to talk more, or something like that. Maybe she didn't think at all, just stood there and looked across to the window and the clouds outside.
So all she saw was a streak of light, too fast to follow with her eyes, and a ripping pain along the length of her left arm.
Sarah gasped , mind reeling, and felt her knees go weak with the sudden shock; she leaned against the bookcase for support before lifting her arm to study it. The gauzy cloth of her sleeve was slashed and a streak of red had bloomed against the blue-veined alabaster of her inner forearm. In the seconds that she stared at it, she watched it ooze up and trickle down the entire length of her arm, from wrist to elbow. She began to breath hard, eyes fixated on the red, the white, and the pale marble below. A drop of scarlet splashed against the floor.
"What did you do?" she half-shrieked, half-mumbled. She pushed her torn sleeve upwards on her arm. Her eyes lifted to search the room; and there, the marsh light, standing in front of her on the floor. He had caught some of her falling blood in one hand.
"A test," he replied calmly, looking up. Entirely unruffled, but for his stained hand.
"This... this..." Her mind was entranced with the blood. "I could bleed to death. P-people kill themselves like this." Vaguely, she thought to wrap it in something. Try to stop the blood flow.
"Don't fret," Fellmarch said. "If you were fatally injured, the blood would be gushing. I don't think that it is as bad as you think."
He sounded remarkably self-satisfied, she realized with horror. What the hell..?
But the blood wasn't gushing out of her arm. It was crimson, yes, absolutely covered now, but it did not seem to be...
Gingerly, Sarah reached down with one finger to explore the depth of the wound. And... found... nothing?
She rubbed harder, removing the blood to stare at the flesh underneath. She was rewarded with a twinge of light pain and, looking, she saw a thin white line at her wrist; at the bend of her elbow, was a red tear. As she watched, the redness sealed itself and became pink, then a smooth white. Then the white line at her wrist was gone, leaving no scar behind.
Sarah might have been watching for thirty seconds. By the end, nothing was left but sticky, staining red blood. All she could manage to do was look down at her companion, eyes pleading.
"It is as I thought," he commented, pleased and uncaring of her fear. "Not human."
"I am human," she said desperately. "You... you did something."
"Not at all." Fellmarch jumped into the air, taking flight. He buzzed in front of her for a moment. "Here, if you don't believe me. Follow. There's a mirror on the other side of the room."
He became a streak of light again, flying across the width of the library and heading towards the door. There was, she saw, a large decorative mirror hanging on the wall. Sarah followed slowly, hoping for an explanation but fearful of the marsh light's "tests".
"I'm quite surprised that you haven't noticed a difference yourself," he said as she got closer. "You do have a mirror of your own, do you not? Perhaps the change has been too gradual in the past weeks."
"What are you talking about?" asked Sarah numbly, avoiding the reflective glass. Fellmarch shook his head and motioned her in front of the mirror. Reluctantly, she moved in front of it and looked. It was much clearer than the one in her bathroom. Much clearer.
A figure carved out of stone stood before her—skin of white marble, coral lips, gray-green jade eyes, hair spun out of the darkest carnelian, and deep ruby red for her burgundy velvet gown. The leftover blood on her arm was a garnet inlay. This wasn't her. This wasn't her. This wasn't her.
The eyes widened in response to her own movement, and the trembling was certainly the same.
"I don't understand," Sarah whispered. "I've changed." Into something rich and strange. It was as if she had been... concentrated, compressed down to the essence of herself, leaving purer stuff behind. She was reminded of nothing so much as her step-cousins—they had very clearly been Others at the wedding reception. They had sort of glow about them, not resulting from any inner light, but from being clearer than anything else in the room. And yet, if that were true, shouldn't she be feeling more herself, rather than less herself?
"I think that you should ask His Majesty about this," suggested the marsh light in his serpentine voice. "He's the only person I know who can heal themselves like that." He paused, thoughtfully, and added offhandedly— "You may look like one of the Shining Ones, but they always die when I cut them that badly." He grinned at her roguishly, flexing his blood-covered hand... which was very much clawed, as she noticed now. "If you'll excuse me, I was looking for a book when you came in."
And he zipped away, leaving Sarah standing behind. A wave of repulsion overcame her and she fled from the room, out the door and down the library hallway, leaving the evil little marsh light and the benevolent griffin-door behind. When she came to the star room, she turned blindly down a corridor. A minute of running brought her to another pair of doors, but not the lion ones, off to the side, that she had expected. These were emblazoned with a field of blossoms and directly blocked her way.
Sarah didn't have the energy to go back the way she came. She pulled on the door handle, hoping to see something comforting on the other side. Surprisingly enough, it opened. A sweet-scented breeze wafted into her face, greeting her with its embrace.
Sarah walked, spellbound, into the rose garden.
It was a courtyard of sorts, bound on all sides by the stone castle walls, but the verdant plant life inside removed any feeling of enclosure. A path of worn stones led from her feet into the flowers and curved out of sight. A small patch of green grass separated the door and the beginning of the garden. Then there was a medium-sized tree to shade the path, a pale pink cherry in bloom; this was followed by a sea of sweet-peas, then taller snapdragons, followed by a profusion of roses of all colors and types. There were rose bushes and rose trees, and climbing roses on trellises and trailing up the walls of the castle. Their smell perfumed the air.
Sarah stepped onto the path and felt tears pricking at her eyes—the flowers were so familiar and innocent and homey.Her grandmother, years dead, had raised roses in the backyard. Sarah's earliest memories were dyed yellow, white, pink and red from petals. To see them here, now, when she felt so forlorn, was almost too much to bear. The girl walked into the midst of the garden, feeling her trembling grow as the moments passed. A few turns brought a marble bench into sight, nestled under a burgeoning arch of wisteria and white roses. The girl collapsed onto it gratefully, drawing up her knees to her chest and burying her face into the cloth of her dress.
She didn't know what to think. She didn't know what had happened. She was still in shock from Fellmarch's attack and subsequent revelation, still in shock from seeing her reflection in a clear clean mirror. Change had always unnerved her, but this was stranger than most. The radical transformation that her daily life had experienced had moved to her outer appearance as well. Looks are only skin deep—but the full import was only now crashing down upon her. The less tangible change had been easier to deal with. But now this; this, she couldn't deny.
That which we call a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet.
I am me. I am myself, no matter what magic I can do, no matter where I live, no matter what I look like.
But who was she? Was she the hard, cold, shining person in the mirror? Beautiful and cruel, a female version of the Goblin King? No, that was an over-simplification. Jareth was both of those things, but more besides. Looks are only skin-deep. I am Sarah-daughter-of-Robert-sister-of-Toby-friend-of-Dinah. I am Sarah-castle-dweller-apprentice-of-Jareth-defeater-of-the-Labyrinth. I am not one, but all of these things. I am more. The lack of jeans and tennis-shoes didn't destroy the one self, just as the addition of them wouldn't destroy the other. But... she might exist easily with both selves, but she could only live in one of the worlds. How to survive without killing half of her soul?
And then there was her arm, smooth and flawless despite the bloody gash that had been there ten minutes before. This, she could not factor into the equations of her life. This, she could neither comprehend, account for, nor deal with. It was an unknown. It destroyed all the reassurances she had created for herself.
So Sarah clutched her knees and wept from sheer frustration, alone beneath the nodding flowers, loudly and softly by turns. The sun sank lower and lower in the sky, casting the high-walled courtyard into shadow. Eventually her sobs trailed off into numbness; she lay on the bench, curled on her side, staring into infinity.
Some time later, the measured sound of boots against stone came towards her. Kind of him, to give her warning rather than appearing instantly before her. She couldn't bring herself to care. She didn't look up.
He sat down next to her on the cool bench, near her head. There was silence.
"What happened?" he asked quietly after a moment. Sarah didn't answer.
"Sarah." His tone was still calm, quiet, but warning. Reproachful. Sarah shifted listlessly; he put an arm around her and dragged her to a seated position. It kept her pressed and leaning against his side. She left her head on his shoulder, extending her arm in front of them. Drawing aside the torn gauze of her underdress, she revealed the skin beneath, flaked with dried blood. Jareth studied it without comment.
"Are you hurt?" he asked tonelessly. Sarah shook her head slightly.
"Not anymore." Her voice was cold, so cold. Jareth stroked the arm with a finger, rubbing the blood away. Sarah shivered and drew her arm back against her side. "It... it sealed."
"There was a great deal of blood," he murmured. Sarah nodded.
"I'm afraid I left a bit on the floor of your library, too." She didn't sound very sorry. Jareth sighed; Sarah felt it, rather than heard it, a shifting of his body beside hers.
"I heard about the incident from Pidgin," he told her. "Lord Fellmarch has been dealt with. I thought that you might wish—need—some time alone."
A low noise from Sarah, either agreement or acknowledgment.
"Sarah. You understand the import of all of this?"
"Maybe. I don't know. I don't know!" Her voice cracked, earlier panic seeping into it. "No one has told me anything... substantial, nothing helpful; Fellmarch told me I wasn't human, wasn't one of Jeremy's people—I don't know what that means!" She looked up at Jareth for the first time, eyes intense, and met his own tired gaze. How ironic that he should look his most human at the moment. His eyes held weariness, rather than the unreadable otherness that they so often contained.
"You have become like me, I think. As close as I can guess."
"You." She sounded bitter now. "What have you done to me now?"
"This was none of my doing, dear child," Jareth replied, voice taking a harsh and acidic edge. "This time, it was all you. I suspected that this might be the result, but Lord Fellmarch has confirmed it for us. When you spoke your words at the center of the Labyrinth, in this very castle, you caused this change to begin. You confronted me as an equal and proclaimed yourself to be my equal. I am unique in this world, Sarah. My people loved the Aboveground, loved the humans, and dwelt among them. I alone remained here through the years. Everyone else passed away as the human world became less hospitable and they killed their gods. If any of them still live, I am unaware." He speech began with passion and trailed off to resignation as he ended. "I have been alone for a very long time. Forgive me if I do not despair at your circumstances."
Sarah stared at him, slightly awestruck. She had never seen this range of real emotion from him. Previously, she had seen three moods: anger, amusement, and Teaching-Mode. This level of pain and honesty was completely new. It gave her the strength to speak her mind.
"I don't know who I am anymore," the girl said quietly and hopelessly, gaze traveling back down to her hands. Jareth grabbed her chin in one of his own hands and pulled it back up so her could see her eyes.
"Sarah. This doesn't change your personality, or your past, or your present. You are who you are. Don't get caught up in existential angst. There's no point to it." The scornful note in his voice was more familiar, as was the narrowing of his eyes, but the words of comfort were still bizarre. They didn't really help, but it was a kind attempt.
"You're being so nice," she said, dazed, chin still resting in his hand. Jareth's eyes narrowed further.
"I am not nice," he said distinctly. "Don't make that mistake." As if to prove his point, he leaned forward and kissed her very thoroughly on the mouth, first lightly and then more insistently and finally, well, wow. Sarah forgot that she wasn't supposed to be attracted to him and responded enthusiastically. Her recently ordeal had left her feeling very free of old inhibitions.
When they finally drew apart, if only inches, coherent thought returned. Her first thought: Oh, shit. The game was up. The charade was over. No way to pretend that she didn't want him. Jareth had won.
Fight or flight ran through her head rapidly as she stared at him. Fight or surrender? Denial or acceptance? The hot-blooded part of her (dampened by tears but still alive) roared against the kiss and everything it implied, refusing to give an inch to the Arrogant Bastard. At the same time, it was crying for more physical contact. Conflict, conflict, conflict. She could see the triumph in his face, see the self-satisfaction and smugness. And yet...
A tiny tiny voice in her mind, calm and cool, suggested something that left her stunned. There was triumph, yes, for conquering her at last (this game that had been played since she first met him in Toby's nursery, the Labyrinth only being a battle). But triumph suggested desire, and desire suggested weakness.
There, Sarah realized, lay an interesting compromise. If he wanted her enough to be that happy when he got her, she had some sort of power over him. The seducer is often in danger of becoming the seduced, whispered the voice slyly. It could work! cried her mind and her body, And damn the long term! You want this and, by God, you damn well deserve it!
He wanted her just as much as she wanted him.
It all happened very quickly. Before she knew it, Sarah had pasted her body more firmly against his and pressed her lips against his—and then his mouth was kissing the base of her jaw, and then down her neck to her collar bone, and then her thinking shut down altogether. Her face buried itself in his mass of pale silky hair; it was just as soft as it had always looked. She was making appreciative noises and her hands were moving along his back and sides and chest, feeling the firm muscle laid upon bone that made up his frame. He murmured things against her skin, and his voice was rough velvet rather than silk.
For awhile, Sarah quite forgot about Lord Fellmarch and inhumanity and bloody arms. Faced with other distractions, it seemed very unimportant. It continued being unimportant for quite a few hours and remained so during a leisurely dinner. Jareth continued to distract her very effectively for the rest of the evening. When she finally fell asleep at the end of the night, the feeling of a warm body curled around her own, under cool sheets, kept any troubling dreams at bay.
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A/N: Woo! That's then end of that. I'm exhausted; it was a lot harder to write than I expected. That's part of the reason that I didn't update last weekend, and I apologize for that. My computer also fell ill for a couple of days, keeping me from working.
So a lot happened in this chapter, and I'd just like to warn anybody from making judgments quite yet—this is not nearly the end! Indeed, it's only a little past the halfway point. More plot twists and turns ahead. Sarah will return to the Aboveground. In no way will Sarah and Jareth be all happy-happy lovey-dovey from now on. So, well, there.
Anyway, thank you to reviewers; hope you enjoyed this belated (but long and eventful!) chapter. Acantha Mardivey, Ophelia Eternal, Scary Miss Mary, Bex Drake, Cyber Keiko, Awhina, Moonjava, Draegon-fire, Tor Walker, Lhiata, Cariah Delonne, Tabbicat 12, Velf, Mav1, Nuke, Just A Starving Writer, Pruningshears, Midnight Lady, Golden Usagi, Kaio, Jade Ryouko, and Amora-Ryuko: thank you all very very very much!