Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.
AN Okay, there was a good question brought up in a recent review – I meant to convey Sarah's confusion. At the moment, she truly doesn't know how she feels – when she's with Jareth, she thinks she might be in love with him, likewise when she's with Ter. And when she's alone, she thinks it's ridiculous to be falling in love with ANYONE after having known them for such a short period of time. And thus her predicament. I hope that clears some things up for you.
CHAPTER 5: RECOVERING THE SATELLITESGonna get back to basics
Guess I'll start it up again
I'm falling from the ceiling
You're falling from the sky now and then
Maybe you were shot down in pieces
Maybe I slipped in between
But we were gonna be the wildest people they ever hoped to see
Just you and me
So why'd you come home to this sleepless town
It's a lifetime commitment
Recovering the satellites
All anybody really wants to know is…
When you gonna come down
Your mother recognizes all your desperate displays
And she watches as her babies drift violently away
'Til they see themselves in telescopes
Do you see yourself in me?
We're such crazy babies, little monkey
We're so fucked up, you and me
So why'd you come home to this faithless town
Where we make a lifetime commitment
To recovering the satellites
And all anybody really wants to know is…
When are you gonna come down
She sees shooting stars and comet tails
She's got heaven in her eyes
She says I don't need to be an angel
But I'm nothing if I'm not this high
But we only stay in orbit
For a moment of time
And then you're everybody's satellite
I wish that you were mine
So why'd you come home to this angel's town?
Well, it's a lifetime's decision
Recovering the satellites
And all anybody really knows for sure is…
That you're gonna come down
Counting Crows Recovering the Satellites
Aikanaro blew impatiently as Jareth tossed the leather saddle over the horse's back and began to cinch it. It was a chilly night out – fall fast approaching – and Jareth poked his mount's ribs to make him release his breath before tightening the harness even more snugly. He'd learned the hard way how dangerous it was not to check after that fateful ride his last season at his father's palace. It had been during his long, painful recovery that he'd learned from Arie her true lineage. Or guessed it rather; he still had no concrete proof. He cursed the High King under his breath as he secured his tightly packed saddlebags and mounted, ready to leave.
He would have to make good time tonight to reach the High Court before dawn – he should have left the moment he and Sarah had arrived back at the castle, but he had dallied, wanting to see her one last time before he left. He had watched her ride off into the rays of the dying sun with Ter at her side, jealousy burning in his breast. Still, even with this between them, Jareth couldn't bring himself to hate Ter. Not after all they'd been through together.
He shook his head as he heard a voice at his chest. "Sire? Sire?"
"Yes, yes, I'm leaving, Ignacio. Please, take care of matters while I'm gone, and don't fight overmuch with Siri, eh?" The two pixies hated each other with a passion that Jareth couldn't fathom, though thankfully they conducted themselves properly during the day – their offices spent so much time in close contact with each other that his kingdom would've probably been torn apart at the seams by their feud.
"Done, Your Highness. I won't dignify her base speech with comment." He turned his nose into the air and Jareth laughed.
"Just keep out of trouble, eh? I should be back tomorrow or the day after."
In reply, Ignacio signaled for the guards to open the gates and watched as his king rode off into the night. He turned to go inside and stopped in his tracks. There was someone standing in the doorway, leaning in the shadows with crossed arms. Swiftly, he drew his shortsword, a special blade three quarters the length of a normal one. He began to walk slowly closer, squinting into the darkness. As far as he could tell, the person was unarmed.
After moving only a few feet nearer, he recognized the short figure propping up the doorpost and snorted with disgust before sheathing his sword. "Only you, eh, Siri? Didn't have the guts to come out here and say goodbye? Had to cower in the doorway?" He shoved past her so fast he didn't notice the moonlight illuminating the trails of tears running down her face or the pain in her eyes.
Jareth rode all night as if the hounds of hell were pounding on his heels and entered the courtyard just as the cocks had begun to crow. It would be hours before the first official court session began, but he didn't have the patience to stable Aikanaro himself. Instead he found Cornelius, the old Stable Master and a major aide and abettor in his and Ter's pranks as youngsters, dozing just inside the stable door. He bent close to his friend's face, not making a sound. Stealthily, the grizzled old man opened an eye before jumping in surprise. Jareth couldn't keep a smile from his face.
"Jareth!" Cornelius spluttered. "What brings ye here? And at sich an ungodly hour?"
In response Jareth yawned and stretched with a sheepish grin. "I was meaning to leave yesterday afternoon, my good friend, but I was… detained."
A knowing grin split the old man's face, and he chuckled. "We've got little enough news of ye up here at the High Court, Jareth, but word has it she's quite the catch." He motioned Jareth to lean closer before he continued, "And a mortal to boot. Haven't lost your touch fer infuriating your old man, eh?"
Jareth shook his head. "It's complicated Cornelius. Don't believe everything you hear just yet, okay?"
He nodded sagely, scratching at the stubble on his chin before replying. "Aye, I'll do as ye say. But how's life treatin' ye now that yeh're yer own Master?"
"Not as nicely as I was planning, as I'm sure you've heard."
"Ah, yes, methinks I've heered something along them lines. S'why yeh're here, ain't it?"
Jareth nodded grimly.
"I suppose yeh'd better know before yeh go in, though."
"Know what?" Jareth asked cautiously, the tiny hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.
Cornelius hesitated, opening and closing his mouth like a gaping fish out of water. "It's horrible, bad, Jareth. Yeh're brother's terrible awful sick. Them medicios say he's only got a few more months to live. Say it's an Incurable."
An Incurable. A wasting disease for which there was neither known cause nor treatment. "Oh no, Cornelius. Where is he?"
"Right now? I don't know. He spends most o' his time in his room, nowadays. Ain't got nuthin' much to say to nobody. Can't blame him, really."
"Thank you, Cornelius, old friend. I'll speak with you later." Jareth left with a furious swirl of his pale blue cloak. Cornelius stared after him, wondering at what kind of man his fun-loving prince had become.
Inside, Jareth tiptoed softly down the hallway outside his brother's room, memories of long-ago days threatening to overwhelm him.
A heavy guilt lay inside the Goblin King's heart. His brother Jarred had been born not long after Jareth had left the High Kingdom. Abandoned to an infirm mother and a father made cold and distant by the actions of his older brother, the boy had grown up as best he could on his own, abandoned by Jareth, whom he had worshipped as a hero and a god.
Jareth could still clearly recall his few visits to the High Court – his anger at the High King and concern for the Queen causing him to ignore and sometimes downright hate his younger brother. He hadn't seen or talked to the boy, or man rather, in ages, despite Jarred's many letters requesting visits from his much-loved older brother. The enmity between Jareth and their father was too strong for the Goblin King to overcome. And now look – Jareth had but a few months to make up for all those years of un-brotherly conduct.
Softly he rapped on the door, but there was no answer. Finding it unlocked, he eased it open, wincing at the slight creak. The drapes were drawn and the room was in total darkness. A thick, hoarse cough issued from somewhere within followed by unhealthy wheezing. The sheets rustled and then all was still again. It took everything within Jareth not to slam the door in uncontrollable anger. Instead, however, he growled low and dangerous in his throat and eased the door closed again.
He made his way unerringly to the one room he was bound to find his father in – the private conference room. This one was unlocked as well, and he let himself in. It was empty, the pale morning sun shining in from the western five of the nine high windows to illuminate the stone table in the center of the otherwise bare, circular room.
Pointedly taking the seat his father would occupy, had he been there, Jareth put both boots on the table and waited.
He wasn't disappointed: not long after he heard voices outside in the corridor. He rested his head on his steepled hands and stared intently at the door, much like a cat keenly waiting to pounce on its prey.
There was a loud burst of male laughter and the door opened to admit the High King in all his finery. He had unruly blond hair obviously like Jareth's, though shot through with quite a lot of grey. He had his back turned to the room as he entered, and therefore didn't notice his oldest son until his soft, steely voice cut through the raucous laughter.
"Why didn't you send for me, father?" The High King was visibly startled, and he turned slowly to look at Jareth. Anger and not a little trepidation haunted his ice blue eyes as he spotted the Goblin King.
"Gentlemen, it seems I have some unexpected business to dispatch with this morning. I bid you good day." He kept his back turned to the room until the courtiers had disappeared around the corner before turning in an angry swirl of his grey fur cloak. "What right have you to come here and barge uninvited into my palace?"
"Seeing as how I grew up here, am a member of the High Court, I'd say I have every right in the world. Not to mention the fact that this will one day be my palace. Now again, why didn't you tell me?" Jareth's voice was an explosive calm, and he didn't move from his spot in the High King's chair, though his father fumed.
A cruel smile split his father's face. "What good would it have done? You ignored every one of his letters – mine wouldn't have gotten through any faster."
"That's not true and you know it. I bet you've been refusing to allow my mother to tell me, as well. You are a poor excuse for a Fae."
"And you're a poorer excuse for a son! I should have you beheaded for your insolence! Harboring a human in the Underground just to sate your lusts! Fool! It's taken everything I have to keep the High Court from trying you!"
"It's probably taken everything you have just to convince them to consider it. They know me – all of them. They've known me since I was a boy. They understand that my actions have a purpose."
"Oh they do, do they? And what, pray tell, is that purpose?" The High King hadn't budged from his spot by the door.
"None of your business at the moment. Sometimes I'm afraid you don't really grasp what is. I suppose you've heard the rumors of what Darius has been planning. Or perhaps you're the one who loosed the idea to rattle around in that ugly head of his?"
"I don't know what you're talking about. I have nothing to do with it. I washed my hands of the whole mess when it first appeared that you couldn't handle the situation. It's your problem. If you fail to keep events under control, it is your fault and none other."
Jareth realized in that moment what his father was planning. It was a cunning plot. He was hoping that Darius would murder his oldest son, and he could be rid of him without soiling his own hands. "When did you begin to despise me so?" Jareth asked in a defeated voice, hating the terrible waste of energy required by both men to abhor each other.
"When you became an insufferable weakling and an undutiful son." Came the cold reply.
Jareth shook his head. This was about Dulsinea, as it had been since Jareth was a teenager. Just then, his anger flared and before he could control himself he said, "You realize that if I die, that makes Arie the next in line for the throne, don't you?"
His father's face turned deathly pale and then flushed a deep shade of scarlet, followed by a volatile purple. "What did you say?"
"You heard me. I know." He spat the word as though it tasted vile. "I've known for a while. And I have suspicions about Ind, as well, though I haven't found any proof. You've wronged my mother beyond belief, and you stand there and feign being incensed as if you've never made a mistake in you life! You disgust me!"
"And you sit there with your disrespectful, muddy boots on my table and pretend that you don't have a human lying in your sheets, waiting for you to return. Don't talk to me about mistakes, boy, for I've played higher odds than you'll ever see and come out a winner."
"Yes, well, we'll see. You're time is almost up. And then I will show you what a true ruler is. Don't think I won't denounce you for the adulterous, lying bastard you are, either. When I am High King, things will be much different."
A sickeningly cunning smile crossed the High King's features, and he replied in a venomous voice, "You won't take my place if Darius kills you."
"You're right, I won't. Arie will. A spineless woman trained from birth to scrub kitchen floors and carry food without spilling it. Your precious Underground will be lost to those vultures circling my kingdom as we speak." Jareth paused for a minute to let that barb sink in before continuing. "Since you cannot do your duty to your subjects and stop this horrible nonsense, I have nothing further to discuss with you. I'll be addressing the High Court later today. May the cries of all the innocents you've murdered with your petty and pathetic games haunt your dreams." Jareth stood and made as if to exit.
"Sit back down. I'm not through with you."
"I, however, am through with you. I am as through with you as I possibly can be. I do not claim you as father, Jenrian. Good day, Your Highness." With that, Jareth shoved the older man aside and walked calmly out the door.
It had felt good to finally say it. Jareth couldn't deny that a weight on his shoulders had lifted, but still, it had been a stupid thing to do. Especially since he hadn't been before the High Court yet. He shrugged and continued on, feeling justified in his actions.
His first stop now that he had several hours free was at his mother's room. She sat in her wheeled chair, gazing out at the hustle and bustle of the courtyard as people arrived and left, the early morning chill repelled by a thick woolen blanket. "Jareth," she whispered, her voice soft and slightly husky.
"How did you know it was me, mother?" Jareth asked, crossing the room to drop a gentle kiss on the Queen's wrinkled brow.
"How can a mother not know her own son? I've missed you, baby." She grasped him in an embrace, though her arms were as weak as a newborn infant's – characteristic of her infirmity.
"I've missed you, too, mother. How is Jarred? Is it really as bad as they say?"
"Every bit as bad as the rumor mill is reporting, dear." Tears welled up in her big, brown eyes. "You should spend some time with him now that you're here. He's done nothing but talk of visiting you since he was first pronounced sick. Perhaps it will do his heart some good to know that you're here."
"Perhaps," was Jareth's doubting reply. "Though heaven knows by all rights he should despise me and kill me on sight for my abysmal treatment of him. I am a scoundrel."
"Nonsense," she retorted, "and you know it. You are the best son a mother could've asked for, and a blessing on the Underground for all you've done. Jarred understands what keeps you away."
Jareth shook his head. "Yes, but if I were any kind of man nothing would've stopped me from seeing my brother." He saw that look in the High Queen's eyes and before she could start he headed her off. "I can see now there'll be no arguing with you, so we'll drop it. How have you been?"
"As well as can be expected, dear, and that's a far sight better than I'd hoped. I still keep in touch with the outside world, though now only through letters and listening to Aleann gossip to me every morning. The reports are most satisfactory. And, speaking of rumors, what is this I hear of a human, Jareth? Why, darling?"
Jareth kneeled and looked earnestly up into his mother's face. Here was his rock and his comfort. Resting his head in his mother's lap as she stroked his hair, he spoke. "I've been afraid to tell anyone else, mother, but I know you'll understand. Mayhap you'll even see through the mess to what should be done, because I know I can't. Do you remember hearing of the female human that bested me not too long ago?"
"Yes, I do. Her name was Sarah. She was quite an unusual girl from what I heard at the time. Did things no other human has managed, besides beating you. Is this the fugitive you harbor?"
"I've felt a connection with her, since then. As I was sitting in my throne one day, I heard her scream, and couldn't stop myself from going to investigate. When I found her, she was dying, mother. I couldn't just leave her there to drown, so I did the first thing I thought of – brought her here. And now I can't make myself send her back. I think I'm in love with her, even though I know the whole Underground is against me; even though I know it's defying every law made after that horrible war."
"You know, I recall an old children's tale about a beautiful human woman that came to the Underground. I don't remember for the life of me what became of her, though. Knowing our laws, she was probably sent back Aboveground. It doesn't matter though. She's not our concern. Your Sarah is. You say you think you love her, Jareth?"
"I believe so, mother. I certainly love her more than all of the other debutantes that I have forced on me everyday. She's intelligent and beautiful, which are both excellent qualities, but she's also something else. Something I can't put my finger on. Were it not illegal, I might consider taking her for my bride."
His mother stopped her petting to lift his chin and stare deeply into his eyes. "Those are serious words, Jareth, and I know your impulsiveness. Are you sure you mean them? Or are you just looking for the next way to spite your father?"
"I mean them," he answered.
"And do you know that it is her wish to stay?"
"I do," and he internally winced, because he didn't know if it was for him or Ter that she chose to remain Underground.
"Then why do you need advice, my son? If you love this woman, wed her. All things, for love, are forgiven in the end. Besides, from the disaster brewing to the south of you, you may need a strong, steady wife to make it through. I suppose that's why you've come here. Nothing but this or your father's death could be strong enough to draw you to this court."
Jareth sighed. "It's true. However, I have shamed myself. I should have come sooner. Perhaps I could've done something about Jarred."
His mother sighed, and tears came to her soft brown eyes. "No, Jareth, there's nothing you could have done. Jarred's crisis, whether he'll admit it or no, runs much deeper than the disease riddling his body. It's something eating at his soul. I can see it in his eyes every time he opens them, and hear it in his voice every time he speaks." She stopped to look at him again. "Help him, Jareth," she pleaded, "he's beyond my reach."
"I will, mother. I'll do everything in my power to relieve his suffering, if I can't heal his wounded soul."
"I'm afraid it might be too late for that, love," she said as he stood, "but it will ease my heart to know that he has had some peace in his life, even if just for a few moments."
Jareth saw that old familiar dull pain flash across his mother's face, and knew that she had been out of bed too long to be good for her. He tucked the blanket tenderly about her legs and wheeled her over to the bed. "You must rest now. You've been up for hours; I can see it in your eyes. Let me help you." He assisted her out of the wheeled chair and into bed, where he settled the soft comforters around her. Her eyes were fluttering closed even as he kissed her forehead gently and whispered his goodbye.
Out in the hall, he leaned against the door and fought back tears. Being here hurt him more than he could've imagined – seeing his mother's infirmity, having all of his memories haunting him like hateful ghosts torturing him with images of happiness he would never know again. He felt a strong need for Sarah – just to see her smile would've made everything better. She would look at him with that serious, concerned expression she sometimes wore, and in just a few moments he would feel as if a universe had been lifted from his shoulders.
Mentally slapping himself, he stood straight and cursed himself for a blubbering child. He angrily dashed the tears from his eyes and rubbed his forehead. He could feel one of those headaches building – the kind that left his ears ringing and his whole body trembling. His face was burning, though he knew his normally pallid complexion showed only the faintest signs of a blush.
Straightening his clothing, he made for his brother's room again, determined to wake him if he hadn't stirred. That was unnecessary, however, because his soft knock was answered and he entered to find Jarred dressed and peering wistfully off the balcony, his back to the door.
"Hello, little brother," Jareth said quietly when Jarred didn't turn or acknowledge his presence. He saw the man instantly perk, like a setter catching the faintest hint of its quarry.
"Oh," he sighed, "I'm dreaming again. Damn." He turned around, his muddy-brown eyes feverishly lit up from within. "Jareth." He said, his voice barely above a whisper and the tremulous shivering of his glass betraying his barely checked emotions.
"Yes, Jarred it's me. I'm here. And I'm so sorry."
Jarred didn't wait for more confirmation – he dropped his glass on the floor and rushed to grasp his sibling in a bear hug. The Goblin King could smell the sickness on him, and feel it in his brother's wasted frame as he returned the embrace. He felt as if his heart was shattering into a million pieces, and then those pieces were being stampeded over, and those abused fragments melted in a burning furnace.
"I thought you'd never come. I was so afraid that I was going to die without getting to see you one last time."
Instantly, Jareth felt his stomach tie up into a huge knot, and a lump formed in his throat, preventing him from replying or even breathing. Several times he attempted to respond, but only croaks issued forth. Finally, after swallowing several times, he managed to choke out, "I know, and it's entirely my fault for not coming to see you sooner. But now I'm here, and I promise to make up for it."
Jarred released him and smiled. "No, don't blame yourself, you're a busy man and I know it." He walked to the window and threw the drapes wide, letting the brilliant sunlight shine in. Most of the morning fog had burned off, and the day promised the chilly delight of fall.
"The balls are starting soon, Jareth. You can feel it in the air – it's like a charge electrifying everything. Are you planning on attending any this year? I've heard you've dropped quite a bit from the social life in recent times."
Jareth managed a watery smile. "Oh really? Well, I see the court gossips are still doing their jobs."
"You're all they speak of, Jareth, as you always have been. Darius is planning to declare war for some stupid reason or another, and you've gone mad – first that fiasco with Ter and Raven, and then dragging that dratted human woman here. Though there seems to be some confusion among them whether she's a human or an elf you've captured and forced to wed you. Even if you haven't been here in person, it's like I've been right beside you through all of your adventures."
At this the Goblin King sighed. "What they say isn't half the truth, little brother. Would that it were, my life would be much easier. But enough about me, I'm sure you're sick of hearing my name if they talk about me half as much as they used to. What have you been doing lately?" He regretted those words as soon as they left his mouth.
"Oh, you know, this and that. I haven't managed to get out as much as you have, what with things the way they are, but I manage to have my own small escapades here and there."
There was an awkward silence between the two for a few moments where each spent an eternity looking everywhere but the other's eyes. Then Jarred laughed and smiled. "I still can't believe you're here."
"I can't believe I am either," Jareth replied.
"Well, to celebrate, I'm taking you out for drinks before you leave."
"I was planning on that being tonight, but in light of recent developments, I think I can spare a few more days. Ter is still at the castle to hold down the fort. I accept your invitation."
"Excellent. What are you doing today?"
"I'm addressing the High Court on the issue of Darius's aggression and to request the council do something to stop the tomfoolery, but after this morning I'm afraid I'll just be standing there watching as my last bridge disintegrates in flames."
"You fought with father, didn't you?" Jarred asked, concern in his voice.
"Need you ask that question?" Jareth sighed. "When do I not fight with him? But no matter, I can handle things myself should the council prove recalcitrant. I was just hoping to stave off the whole mess. Speaking of the council, I suppose I had better go prepare. But I will find you after, if I haven't been torn into pieces. Bye, little brother."
They hugged briefly once more, and then Jareth left to prepare to face his doom.
And doom was what it was. Jareth reemerged late that afternoon with a raging headache and a strong desire for celvassy. Making a beeline for his room, he entered, stripped off his jacket, loosened his shirt and stretched out on his bed without bothering to take his shoes off.
The mere memory of being grilled by those stony-eyed, soberly dressed bureaucrats made him shudder. This was what he had expected, certainly, but not what he had hoped for. It was up to him, now, to stop the madness. He could anticipate help from no other kingdom. This is what I deserve, he thought bitterly, for alienating the High King.
Again he wished for Sarah. He found himself missing her more and more with every breath, with every thought. He wondered what she was up to, and how she was settling into a life so different from what she was used to. He laughed at that thought, because he knew that she had already settled. She was as much a part of the Underground now as he was.
Standing reluctantly, he crossed to his desk and pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill. He would have to write Ter this instant, and tell him of his plans to stay. Scribbling a quick, sparsely worded note, he sanded and sealed it. Then, on second thought, he pulled out a second sheet and wrote a lengthier message to Sarah, regretting his need for an extended stay and expressing his love for her. A servant entered as he was signing this one, and reported that Jarred requested his presence in the courtyard.
Handing the two notes to the footman and quickly donning his fur-lined cloak, the Goblin King made his way downstairs where Jarred stood, pale and wan and warmly dressed, between their saddled horses. Not a word passed between them, but in an instant, they were both mounted and off.
The Queen Mother sat and watched her two sons disappear quickly down the road – one so strong and sure, like a sunbeam, the other as fragile as the first pale shoots of grass after a long winter. A silent tear rolled down her cheek: a physical manifestation of a lifetime of sorrows and regrets. A chill wind blew through the open window and dried the liquid memorial on her cheek. Turning away, she silently wheeled herself back to her bed, hating the spineless wretch she had become in her old age.
Gritting her teeth with determination, she struggled to stand, willing strength into her twisted, useless legs. As if to spite her, her arms collapsed under her own dead weight, knocking her back into her chair. She suppressed a cry of frustration and gathered her strength for another attempt. The queen mother surged up out of her chair, landing with a soft thud awkwardly on the bed – her upper body had made it, but her legs and abdomen dangled futilely beneath her. As she reached up to pull herself further onto the mattress, she felt gravity begin its inevitable pull downward. To save herself she grabbed for the sheets, but they offered no purchase as she drug them into the floor on top of her.
The metallic taste of blood flooded her mouth and though she couldn't be sure she judged she'd bitten through her lip and knocked out a tooth in the bargain. She was too proud and too ashamed to call out for help, though the salt of her tears soon commingled with the blood leaking down her chin, burning her worthlessness into her every nerve. She would try again to pull herself up, and again she would fall, but in the end, she would conquer. That was how it had always been.
From another window, not too far distant, Jenrian also watched the two brothers ride away. As he always did whenever he had a confrontation with Jareth, he cursed himself for not being a better father, for not being a better king, for not being a better Fae. He hated and revered his oldest son in measures so strong he sometimes felt he could explode from their conflict within him.
Jareth will make a fine High King someday, he thought. At least, finer than I ever was or could ever hope to be. It was his jealousy over this fact, and his anger at Jareth over the Dulsinea incident that caused him to react so violently whenever he was forced to converse with his heir. And still he couldn't help but compare him with all his other children – both legitimate and bastard – and think of what a magnificent specimen he had become.
I think I'm gonna end it there. Sorry so short, but bear with me. The next chapter's gonna be a short one too, and then back to the action. : )