CHAPTER THIRTY TWO - TO BRING ONE MAN TO JUSTICE
Once word of Darien's evil doings made their way through the Underground, he could hardly poke his head out a window without fingers jutting or threats being shouted. Eventually Arianna told him she could no longer endure the threat to her own well being. "I've done a lot of things for you Darien, turned my head to your numerous indiscretions, even covered the tracks of more than one of your lies, but I won't risk dying for you. A seer has confessed your crime, nothing you can say will change anyone's mind, including mine." Outside their home a herd of hooves ran closer and Darien widened his eyes.
"You sent them for me?"
"What darling? It isn't like I was planning on keeping the reward."
"You sent them after your husband?"
"My husband? When have you ever been my husband? When you were off screwing anything willing to lie still for the minute and a half it takes you to satisfy yourself? When you went on a hunting expedition while I gave birth to your daughter? No, it must have been when you stayed home during your child's funeral service? Never in all the time I've been with you have you ever been made to pay for your sins and I have a good idea you got away with murder, literally, even before then. Today it ends. Our marriage, your borrowed freedom, the lies, everything ends." Arianna had always been an assertive woman. She'd been waiting for this opportunity. Divorce was not an Underground concept, leaving him unacceptable, but the Triumvirate had paved the avenue for her to drive him from her life.
The back of Darien's hand crossed her cheek, "You bitch!" His eyes searched frantically for some potential method of escape.
"I hope you enjoyed that," Arianna said, rubbing her face. "But I assure you, I will enjoy the severity with which they restrain you far more."
"They've not caught me yet," he said. He threw open a window and jumped out, running for his life, quite factually.
"Through here!" Arianna cried to the men as they circled the home. "He's gone out the window, quick, follow him!"
By the time Darien reached Tiberon's castle, his breath was rapid, his face flushed. He had to run quite the distance before enough space existed between he and his pursuers to allow him enough time to concentrate on a transportation spell. "Son," he heaved at the door, "do your dad a favor and let me inside."
"The entire realm is after you and now you claim me as your son?"
"Tiberon, my boy, I was a fool. It wasn't me who denied you. It was Arianna. She always wanted her miserable daughter to be queen. She never cared that I had you. Why live in the past when we've such a future to look forward to." Anyone with half a brain could have seen through his sugary words, but when someone was as desperate for their father's acceptance as Tiberon was, they welcomed the facade because even a false feeling of love was better than none.
Without further hesitation the representative undid the lock on his door and invited his father inside. "I've waited for this day," he told Darien. "I've prepared for it."
"Have you now?"
"Well not exactly. I've prepared to dethrone Jareth, seeing as how I should have been the one to hold it after you. Now it seems the fey who has brought you such misery is none other than the fey who has kept me from my rightful spot in your shadow."
"Jareth is responsible for the realm's searching high and low for me?"
"His pet mortal. She's the seer."
"A mortal?" Darien asked rhetorically. "They want to try me based on the ramblings of some mortal?"
"A seer," Tiberon corrected.
"Who cares? She's a mortal, not to mention completely smitten with Jareth and would most likely say anything he asked. It wouldn't surprise me if he'd written it all down for her."
"They say she was tested by the Triumvirate." Darien looked at the Representative curious as to why he had switched to defending the Triumvirate so quickly. "Never mind that. I have the best defense we could have against the king. Come with me." Darien followed him, intrigued at his promises of the ultimate defense. "This is the Shadow King," Tiberon said as he introduced his father. "Physically like the King in every way, but for his hair and eye color. Emotionally comprised of everything evil about the king."
"Well not everything. I mean I had to leave him a little something to keep him from being too boring," the Shadow King admitted as he shook Darien's hand. "I believe I can accredit most of my attributes to your genealogy."
"Amazing," Darien said as he circled the Shadow King. "You're pitting Jareth against himself."
Tiberon glowed with pride. "It was my intent. Let's have a brandy and I can catch you up." As Tiberon detailed his accomplishments with Jareth thus far, Darien couldn't resist asking, "Why would you dismiss Maeve? Given her relationship with Jareth, I should think she'd make a fabulous addition to our tiny throng."
"Perhaps, but she completely botched our last agenda," Tiberon rationalized.
"Be that as it may, I think she could help us now."
"Well she's not speaking to me."
"She'll speak to me," the former king said coyly. "Just get her here and I'll convince her to rejoin us."
"She won't come for me."
"She'll come for me," the Shadow King offered.
Tiberon smiled broadly, "I believe she would."
"Oh she has!" the Shadow King grinned.
"So you've hid here without being discovered for how long?" Darien was suddenly interested in his methods for staying incognito.
"Weeks."
'Plenty of time,' Darien thought. "By then we'll get my boy on the throne and he'll see that nothing dreadful happens to his old man, won't you son?"
"Anything you want father." His obedience was horribly sad, almost pathetic. His allegiance would never be returned, but Tiberon didn't think so far in advance. He was content to get through the present and let the future take care of itself.
Maeve's bony knuckles crashed against the door, forcing the sound to echo through Tiberon's castle. The Shadow King pulled back the door and leaned his shoulder against the jamb. "Maeve, darling, it's fabulous of you to agree to see me again."
"Never mind how marvelous I am. I'm no idiot. I know you've gotten me here because Tiberon needs me. If he admits that I might stay," her declaration raised the brows of the look a like Jareth.
"Won't you come in." He led her to the dining room where Darien and his son waited for them. Maeve curtsied to the former king and took the seat at the table furthest from Tiberon. "Now Maeve," the Shadow King said as he draped himself in a chair next to her, "Tiberon was a bit hasty in his treatment of you, I admit that, but we stand to gain so much from taking over Jareth's throne, it'd be a pity if there weren't enough of us to share in it."
"To hell with making it sound appetizing," Tiberon shouted as he slammed his fist on the table. "If you don't help us, Jareth dies."
"Are you insane? Given recent events," she eyed Darien, "You know exactly what assassinating a king will get you. You can't kill Jareth." Though Maeve did her best to seem uncaring, she had no doubt they were capable of the deed.
"Oh how wrong you are love. I can and without you there to stop me I will. What's best is no one will ever know. The Shadow King with a quick dye job," he snapped his fingers and the rich black strands of the Shadow King's hair glinted gold, "will assume Jareth's position on the throne. He'll speak to his subjects of the sudden change of heart he's had. Explain to them how now that he's been made aware I am the rightful first son of the former king, he's graciously stepping down from the throne. In return, I'll offer Jareth my position as Representative."
"Fine. You'll be king. He'll have a real life rather than living in some cell in this place. As king you'll free Darien from punishment for his brother's murder, what do I stand to gain from this?"
"Always thinking of yourself aren't you Maeve?"
"Someone's got to look out for me," she told him.
Tiberon leered at her from the far end of the table, "You dear, stand to gain the heart of the king, for who will he have to love once his precious Sarah is gone."
"Gone. So you plan to kill the mortal."
"Indeed. All of this trouble is because of her. She's turned Jareth against you, made him happy again, done so much for the Underground and now she claims to be a seer, hence father's conundrum. She's perceptive, she'll sense Jareth is in danger and rush to his side. Anything can happen in a fray, you know that. She'll die first and Jareth will watch." Maeve's face sparked with interest as he continued, "Then Jareth will join her, unless you agree to help us."
Darien leaned over to flash his eyes at her. Admittedly, he still harbored a certain charm, even centuries past his prime. "Your involvement in our little coup de tat is imperative dear. Yours in the first maneuver, setting the pace for all to come. Please say you'll lend a hand."
"What exactly is it you want me to do?"
"Simple," the former king explained. "We need you to draw a potion, something we can put in the water, something which will infect all of Jareth's goblins, rendering them completely useless as an army. Then you'll lure Jareth from the castle and we'll take care of the rest."
Her eyes rotated around the table, taking them all in, hunger evident on their faces. Decisions to be made weighed on her. She thought about letting him die, for he had scorned her. The Shadow King was here now and Maeve could entertain herself with his company for an impressively long while. Why did she need Jareth? Not to mention a front row seat to watch the mortal die. She wondered how she would hide her elation. If the king caught her reveling in Sarah's death, he'd be far less inclined to run off with her when they were 'spared' from Tiberon's rule. "I'll help you on one condition."
"Name it," Tiberon snarled.
"When all has come to pass, you'll send us away, Jareth and I, across the mountains if necessary, but away from everything he's known here, everything which reminds him of her."
"Agreed." The men said in unison, leaning back in their seats and exchanging sneers with one another. Their satisfaction poured out in cackling laughter, echoing against the walls.
In the basement of his castle, Tiberon had organized a lab where Maeve could work. Pulling open the door, he shoved her roughly inside. "Three days Maeve, not a minute more. Three days from today, we carry out our plan and if you're not ready, if you're not by my side, Jareth dies. Work hard love."
When the stone door shut behind him, Maeve growled into the empty room. Having to be submissive to him made her reconsider whether or not Jareth was worth all this. Ultimately she concluded it was and set about mixing powders and potions to test on the woodland creatures. Darien kept a stock for her to use. Day and night she experimented with incoherency potions, anti-coordination serums and ineptitude powders. Nothing worked. Goblins were already a clumsy breed and these didn't seem to make any difference, if anything it seemed to have an adverse effect when used on a clumsy creature. It would take something more she decided. They'd need to sleep. It was the only way to be sure they were of no use to the king. Maeve began with a base of Valium, adding chamomile and poppy seed. It was a good beginning. The spell took effect fast and resulted in a deep state of unconscious, but it lacked staying power. She tried all sorts of chemicals. None worked. A variety of herbals, but none accomplished the goal. Every magic she knew and still, not enough. She'd heard of a rare black flower, the pollen from which had been the same used to poison apples and spinning wheel needles through out the ages. The magic allowed the castor to proclaim the length of the spell. It was a rare flower, blooming only at night, in the deepest crevasse of the thickest tree in the very center of the woods. With only one day left to fulfill her duty, Maeve called for Tiberon and explained she would need this as the final ingredient for her elixir.
"In the very center of the forest," she reiterated. "And this is no blade of grass. It is said the flower blooms out of the soil where a witch's body was burned. That rather than a ghost, she lives on through the blossom. You must leave something in place of what you take. Something to please the witch's spirit."
"Eye of newt," he chided.
Maeve glowered at him, "Don't be so stereotypical. A true witch can find power in the air around her, that isn't the point. She's giving you a piece of her magic and you must give something of yourself as well."
"Then I shall piss on her grave before I leave," he snarled.
Grabbing his arm, Maeve pulled him to her. "A witch is nothing for you to mess with Tiberon. If you want to die before you have your chance to take the throne, carry out this little plan of yours, but if I were you, which thankfully I am not, I would seriously rethink the amount of seriousness with which you handle this task."
"Why don't you go pick the fucking weed then?"
"It isn't a spell being cast for me. If you want the magic to obey you, you must be the one to command it." He turned to leave. "One more thing, you mustn't pull it from the ground. When you make your offering, if it is accepted, the bloom will tip gently on its side and remove itself from the earth. Only then are you permitted to pick it up. Seal it in some sort of bag and bring it to me, quickly. If I'm to ready a potion for you my noon time tomorrow, I'll need it before midnight."
Outside the door, the Representative thought over all she had said. "Rubbish," he whispered.
Walking through the forest made Tiberon wish he had paid more attention to his sector. He was wandering around for hours with absolutely no clue where the center of his forest was. He started to examine each large tree he came across and after more than an hour of searching, found the crevasse and spotted the flower. He'd brought a dagger with him and lay it on the ground but nothing happened. "What do you want from me?" he shouted.
'Blood,' he heard whispered on the air.
The representative jolted, "What?"
'Blood,' the wind said again.
Clasping the dagger in his hand, he drew the steel blade over his palm making a small cut which he allowed to bleed onto the ground near the flower. The stem bent and then broke very close to the base. Tiberon picked up the bloom and headed home. His hand was thumping and he was angry at being forced to injure himself for a flower. A little after eleven Tiberon returned with a leather sack, inside a rich black bloom, the circumference of a serving tray. Her hands gloved, Maeve held the flower gently, as though it were made of crystal, and brought it to the cauldron where her base stewed. A half dozen times she forced the stem to collide with the palm of her hand causing silver dust to fall from the flower. "Name your duration."
"Twenty-four hours," Tiberon chose at random, sure that would be enough time. Rather too much than too little.
"So it is done." The stem and bud in her hand disappeared. "The potion must brew another five hours. Just before morning we'll add it to the castle's water supply. Anyone who drinks, who is not of mortal blood..."
"Will fall into a deep sleep from which they shall not awaken for a period of 24 hours."
"And by then their world shall have changed forever." Tiberon took her by the hand and spun her around the room, "You've done it again, positive genius you are!" Spinning her in to him, the Representative lowered his head for a kiss. Maeve turned her cheek to him. "Saving yourself for Jareth I see. Fine, if you are able to get him to want you, let him have you." Slamming the door he left.
Just before dawn, Tiberon snuck up to Jareth's castle and poured the brew into the water supply. When the first ray of sun came up of the hill, the goblin's filled the city. Goblins, being notorious for there insatiable thirst, begin drinking as soon as their feet touch ground, some even before. Most of them were drunk by mid-morning and again by afternoon. The king had taken to mixing water in the wine, just to keep them useful for half the day. By the time everyone in the castle had finished breakfast, the entire goblin population was asleep, mounded throughout the land like some series of mole hills disrupting the landscape.
Turgomon was the first to notice as he made rounds after the morning meal. "They're dead to the world," he told the king.
Jareth stretched out a leg and kicked at a particularly chubby one of his goblins sending him tumbling down the hill. When he reached the bottom, he collided with the stone wall of the Labyrinth. Only snoring came from him at the jolt. "So I see. Perhaps, the servants forgot to water the wine this morning." As the two men and Sarah stared contemplatively at the snoozing goblins, Deverell came running up to them at full speed.
"Sire, in this morning's post," he gasped for breath as he held his knees.
"Yes," Jareth asked confused.
"A scroll your majesty, signed by the Cleric," Deverell stood tall and handed the scroll to Jareth.
The king unraveled the paper and read, to himself at first and then aloud to all those in attendance. "It says, Your majesty, there is a plan within the Triumvirate to eliminate the Underground and assimilate your kingdom back into the lands governed by us. I needn't tell you who is at the forefront of this administration, as I'm certain you are aware of the Gavel's contempt for you. Meet me in the meadow beyond the waterfall at noon and I will give you more details. You must come as I am undertaking a huge risk in corresponding with you. Very truly yours, the Cleric."
"Eliminate the Underground," Turgomon repeated. "That's absurd. The entire reason they've created the Underground is because they couldn't manage all this land on their own."
"Yes, well it seems I've caused them quite a stir as of late. Anything is possible. The Cleric has never betrayed me and I don't anticipate his starting to now. I'm going to meet him."
"Jareth," Sarah clutched at his arm. Why wouldn't the Cleric just come here, to the castle. He's done it before. Why not now?"
"You heard what the letter said. He was running a risk, just writing. The meadow beyond the falls is very near the foothills to the mountain range. It's probably as far as he can dare wander. I'll go by magic to the falls and ride from there. If the Triumvirate are watching, the last thing they need to do is sense my magic."
"I'm going with you," Sarah said staunchly.
"You are not. You're staying right here where you can be well looked after. I shan't be gone more than an hour. Everything will be fine."
"Sire, if you please, I must agree with milady," Turgomon said smoothly. "Were this to turn into a trap, whom would you send for help."
"Turgomon, enough. All of you. This is a scroll signed by the Cleric, sealed with the Triumvirate's crest." Jareth flipped over the paper to reveal the triangular brand which matched the one he and Sarah wore. "I'm going alone, it is not a trap and I'll hear no more about it. I'm leaving in fifteen minutes and shall return by supper." Jareth headed to the stables to gather Bagheera.
"Milady, you have the same dreadful feeling in your stomach I do no doubt." Sarah nodded. "Right then, let us go inside and see if I can't messenger the Cleric to confirm this meeting of theirs."
Sarah and Deverell followed Turgomon back to the castle.
As Jareth approached the stable. Gribbin met him at the gate. "Riding today your majesty?"
"So I am. Is Bagheera fit for travel?"
"A fine horse like he is fit for just about anything at just about any time. Let me place his bit your majesty and I'll bring him round."
Jareth nodded and Gribbin was off. The king waited a considerably long time for someone as impatient as he tended to be, then enter to find Gribbin leaning against the horse, asleep. "Can't stay sober one day these types," he grumbled as he set Gribbin on the ground and took the horse's reigns.
Deverell stopped off at the armory to get Dalkeil while Sarah called to Arulan to bring them beverages. The day was impossibly warm and their bodies had long since expended the juice they'd had with breakfast. Dalkeil arrived first and was immediately brought up to speed on everything with regard to the scroll.
"His majesty's words are law," he said. "He has gone, none of us have any right to question his decision."
"Dalkeil, he's only fey. Fey have been known to be wrong a time or two," Deverell pointed out.
Sarah sat on the edge of her seat at the large table in the library. "Turgomon, tell him you suspect something too. Tell him."
"I merely need to confirm the details Sarah."
"What about that dreadful feeling, the one in the pit of your stomach. You can ignore that now?"
"If it is proven to me that the scroll is legitimate, I've no worries."
Arulan entered with a tray of glasses, all filled with water, a slice of lemon turned over the brim of each one. "Here you are," she set the tray in the center of the table. Everyone reached for a glass and set it before them.
Sarah did her best to pull her hand back from the glass, but as her fingers refused to uncurl she knew it was an impossibility. She braced for the vision due to follow. Maeve's face was all she needed to see before she realized Jareth was in grave danger. A cauldron, a black cellar, a flower in a leather sac and Tiberon's cold smile. The glass went crashing to the floor, shattering and spilling it's contents. Arulan rushed to Sarah's side.
The mortal opened her eyes and saw Dalkeil about to drink from his glass. "No," she cried diving for him and knocking the water free of his grip. Another shattered glass. "It's been poisoned."
"Poisoned," Arulan repeated.
Sarah's head shook vehemently up and down. "Maeve and Tiberon concocted a sleeping potion. That would explain all of the goblins."
"Dear me," Arulan gasped.
"What is it?" Sarah asked before she noticed the elf's half empty glass. "Arulan, don't worry. You're going to be fine. Everything is going to be fine."
"How do you know?" She was frightened. She wanted to believe Sarah, but she could feel herself growing weary as they spoke and though she fought the urge to close her eyes she knew she would lose.
"All the same as you knew Jareth and I would be together, because I believe it. I won't allow anything to happen to you, I swear." She turned to Turgomon. "Now do you believe me?" He only looked sorrowfully at her. "Call for the healer, have him come immediately. Have him examine the water and discover what they've put into it, what, if any antidote is needed and tell him he'll need to make it up, in bulk."
"You can't just summon the healer," Dalkeil objected.
Sarah spun on him, a weakened Arulan in her arms, "Why not?"
"The healer is a servant of the king, he'll not come when you call."
Deverell offered, "I'm acting king when Jareth is away, I'll call for him."
"A moment ago none of you even believed me when I told you Jareth was in danger." Her head cocked to the side as she eyed Dalkeil especially hard. "Now you want to argue with me while black magic takes over everything in this kingdom? He is my king as well as he is yours. Nothing, no one will stop me from making absolutely certain that it doesn't happen. To hell with the rules and the hierarchy. I am his," she wanted to say Queen, for in her heart she was, but through gritted teeth she settled for, "seer. My word is law. Not even the almighty Triumvirate will argue me. Dalkeil, unless you somehow have managed to outrank the Triumvirate, I believe our discussion is ended." Looking down, Sarah watched Arulan's eyes begin to flutter. She held the woman close to her chest and smoothed her hair. "Just rest dear, rest and by the morning light you'll see the sun again, I vow."
"Yes, milady." As if it had been an order, Arulan closed her eyes and took her sleep.
With Deverell's help, Sarah lay the elf on a sofa. Focusing on Turgomon, Sarah began to toss commands as she stood tall at the head of the table her fists knuckle down on the cold marble. "Summon the healer. Dalkeil, survey the remainder of the castle to see if anyone besides us remains awake."
"I will not. I'm an armor guard not a house maid."
"You are what I say you are and you will do as I say you will. When you are through, empty the armory of as many weapons as you can carry. Deverell, go to the stables and ready the horses."
"But milady, will not the animals suffer the effects of the potion?"
Reading Jareth's impressive collection of books had provided a splendid education for the girl. Sarah began to explain. "I heard Maeve tell Tiberon the potion would not effect anything mortal. Since a horse is by conception a mortal creature, no breed here is not at least partly mortal. They're safe.
"Yes milady."
"I will use my magic to send word to the leaders of the western sectors as I'm certain Ranofyr will be of no help. We will all," she locked her stare with Dalkeil's eyes as she said it, "meet at the stables in twenty minutes."
"And then?" Deverell questioned.
Sarah looked at each of them. A determination she had never known began to fill her from the toes up, "And then we ride to the aid of the king. About your duties men."
"Aye milady," they said in unison, even Dalkeil.
As they all converged on the stables from slightly different angles Deverell looked at them in awe and with pride. Suddenly his purpose here had taken on a new meaning him. There was strength in Jareth's tiny army, perseverance and an unwavering willingness to serve the king, a respect small towns often overlooked. His part in it now gave him great emotion. Sarah had changed into riding breeches and a tight fitting shirt. Her hair was pinned behind her head in a bun. Dalkeil was laden with sacks of weapons, swords, maces, far more than the four of them could use, but he had been given an instruction and he was not about to disobey it.
"The healer has arrived milady. He believes it is a time released drug and cannot be treated by an antidote . In time it will wear off, but he is breaking down the components to be sure he hasn't overlooked anything," Deverell reported.
"No one remains awake, but we." Dalkeil threw the bags at Sarah's feet. "I brought enough armor and weaponry for five times our number."
Waving them closer Sarah instructed, "Choose your weapons and suit your armor."
Dalkeil approached her quietly. "The armor is all built to fit us men milady. If you ride with us, you do so with no protection."
"Correction, I ride with you three for protection."
"So you do," he smiled. "So you do."
Chataigne, Cymeron and Shindeagon were brought around to the front for them to mount. Deverell had chosen Shadowmere to ride. Once everyone was atop their horse, Sarah turned, "What are you waiting for?"
"I believe we're waiting for you to lead, milady," Turgomon offered.
Reigns snapped against Chataigne's shoulders as Sarah conveyed urgency with her digging heals, "Yay!"
The men echoed her sentiment. "Yah!" they cried.
Hooves battered at the earth as they rode into the northwest sector. Each animal gave everything they had as though they too understood the necessity of their mission. After all they had been trained as servants to the king. Sarah's eyes itched to cry, but she refused to give into the temptation. A change had taken place in her. Something deep and magnificent. Something stunning and certain that she had never felt before and she knew it was what she and Arulan had discussed, that special feeling of knowing Arulan had prayed for. Three men rode hard behind her and she needed to lead them. She needed to know that she could be a queen and once she knew, she would profess her love to Jareth. Just thinking of him reminded her there was a limit to the time they had. Looking into the sky, she saw the sun was nearly overhead, noon was rapidly approaching.
"There," Turgomon cried. Off to the right was the waterfall.
They stopped their horses for a quick drink. "It's not far now," Sarah told them. "If one among you wishes to end your journey here speak up." The men looked at each other. Worry evident on Deverell's face for he was the least experienced. Turgomon still wore the look of shame he had donned when he was proven wrong by Sarah's vision. Dalkeil was stern, ready, almost eager to continue. Not one among them moved away. "I'm glad. Come now, we've not got much time."
Jareth sat on Bagheera's back, trotting tight circles in the center of the meadow. The Cleric was no where to be seen and it was only minutes until noon. It was not like the Cleric to be late, quite the contrary, he had the same propensity for early arrivals the king did. Jareth thought of his great grandfather's sword strapped to Bagheera's side. The others sparked enough doubt in him that he decided to go prepared. There was a feeling of uneasiness about being here. Removing the scroll from his pocket, he looked at the signature once more. It certainly looked real, the fluid 'C' and the sharp angle on the arm of the 'r', all trademarks of the Cleric.
"A remarkable fake isn't it grandson. Your former wench excels at forgery."
Even had he not stated his association, which Jareth would have preferred he not do, the king recognized the tone of his voice, Darien. "And so you've pulled one over on me, how proud you must be. You know I can't drag you to the Triumvirate and so you've gotten me out here where you can play upon my sympathies and attempt to what exactly? Get me to recommend to the Triumvirate your punishment be minimal if at all, in the interest of not fanning the flames?" Jareth dismounted and positioned himself before the former king, nose to nose, eye to eye and toe to toe. "Well grandfather, I say fan the flames. Bellow them until they rise to the heavens like a beacon, until everyone in the realm can see you for the snake you are." Darien only smiled, a wicked smile. He didn't respond, not even a blink, not even the raise of his hand to wipe away the spit Jareth had flung as he shouted.
"Step away from my father," Tiberon called.
Jareth turned to see the three of them. Tiberon in the center, Maeve and the Shadow King off to the sides. Double taking the Shadow King, he noticed the change in his hair color immediately. The Shadow King must of noticed because he sarcastically chastised Jareth, "Green? Gads man, green makes us look so rotund. Really, haven't you a stylist? But of course not, look what you've done to our hair."
"They were right, this was a set up. What is it you want?"
"Just your kingdom nephew. After all, it is rightfully mine and being the good and fair king that we know you are, I'm sure you want me to have it."
"And my freedom," Darien added. "You wouldn't want to see your grandfather imprisoned, or worse, would you?"
"I want you dead," the Shadow King said pointedly. "But since they won't let me kill you, spoil sports, I'm getting the southeast after Tiberon is king."
Maeve slunk against his side, "I just want you love."
"I'd sooner let him kill me," Jareth said indignantly.
"It can be arranged," Maeve shouted.
"I've heard your demands, I'm a reasonable king. We'll compromise. Tiberon you can have a lovely pen somewhere in my kingdom. Darien you shall be free to breath, but from the chains they shackle you in I doubt to do much else. I'll kill you," he told the Shadow King. "And things such as my choice of colors and hairstyle shall no longer plague you. And you my dear," he pinched Maeve's chin between his thumb and forefinger. "You may go on wanting me, if wanting a man who no longer wants you suits your tastes and when my goblins come to me with there wild requests, I'll give you the pleasure of delivering the 'how does it feel to want' speech."
"Amusing Jareth. It warms my heart to see you face your death with a smile." Darien drew his blade. "Much more suitable then my brother."
The king drew his weapon from Bagheera's side and swatted the horse's rump in order to shoo him from the battle, "If it's a fight you want," he vowed.
"'Tis a fight you shall have," Dalkeil called out as he crested the hill, smoothly dismounting and drawing a sword in one hand and a mace in the other." In seconds he was at Jareth's side, back to back they faced Darien and his men as Deverell and Turgomon dismounted. "Good day your majesty," he said to Jareth over his shoulder.
"Matter of opinion," the king replied. "Mind my asking how it is you knew to follow me?"
"Milady Sarah, my lord. She insisted we ride to you." Jareth looked at the crest of the hill beyond the meadow. Sarah remained atop Chataigne a look of worry on her face. "She's quite a woman, if you don't mind my saying."
"Good lord, why is she here?"
"Tying her to the castle door couldn't have kept her away."
From atop her horse Sarah could see for miles, but her eyes remained focused on the king. He held a sword as naturally as he held a child and appeared as handsome in doing so. She watched him fend off Tiberon who though more armored than the king, lacked his skill and grace. From the corner of her eye, she saw the Shadow King, though she didn't know who he was, she could see he bore an uncanny resemblance to her king. Only, as she had told Jareth at their second masquerade, he was no Goblin King, for she would know the Goblin King any where any time, by the rhythm of his breath, the wrinkles in his smile and the gait of his stride. The Shadow King strutted like a peacock, full of pride and indignation, he led with it, where as Jareth, commanded his, wore it like a tailored suit, and strode with his confidence first and foremost.
Deverell squared off against the Shadow King and Turgomon remained at the bottom of the hill between Sarah and the fighting, a close eye on Maeve. Jareth paired with Tiberon and Dalkeil with Darien. "Very well gentlemen, we each have a sparing partner. Let's get this over with quickly. I've promised my household I'd be home for dinner."
"Really," Tiberon asked trying to be coy. "What are you having?"
"Chicken," he replied.
Tiberon dashed at Jareth with the blade a bit too eagerly for the king was able to gingerly side step the blow. "Bad form on me. I should have worn you down before going in for the kill. But then bad form on you, bringing your whore into battle." He motioned to Sarah on the hilltop.
Knowing what he was up to, Jareth refused to allow his concentration to be broken by looking away. He only raised his eyebrow and curled his lip, "Turn about is fair play old friend, you've gone and brought yours."
Hearing his insult, Maeve charged the king. "You bastard," she cried as she jumped on to his back and pummeled him with tiny fists. Jareth did his best to shake her off while Tiberon merely laughed.
Leaving the safety of Chataigne to journey down the hill, Sarah found her self caught up in Turgomon's quick arms. "I won't allow it."
"You won't allow it." Sarah pleaded with her eyes, "Fine you go pull her off him."
"My code of honor does not permit me to put my hands on a woman," Sarah looked at his arms about her waist and then back to his face. Quickly he added, "in hostility."
"Fortunately, I don't have such a code when it comes to women, or men for that matter." Her foot came crashing down on the bridge of Turgomon's and while he was jumping in pain, she ran blindly into the meadow. Her hands filled with tufts of Maeve's hair and clothes. Pulling as hard as she could Sarah tore the woman from the king's shoulders and threw her to the ground like a rag.
Dalkeil and Darien were poetry in motion as they danced around one another. "Pity to kill you Darien, after all my father served you."
"Pity to kill you with the same tricks he taught me," Darien replied.
"Ah, but you must know he taught them to me as well," he swung his sword at the former king and it glanced off of his armor, but the temporary lapse in concentration had given Dalkeil a momentary upper hand. He continued to assault the king with a series of attacks hoping he would falter all together.
"You're his spitting image," Deverell said to the Shadow King as they raked their blades together.
The Shadow King laughed maniacally, the horrid sound echoing of the hills, "How sure can you be that I am not him?"
"I...I..." Deverell stammered.
"I...I..." the Shadow King mocked, and then laughed again, this time louder and harder. The young fey was obviously shaken by him.
Over his shoulder, Jareth watched as Sarah and Maeve rolled around on the ground in a struggle for control. "Sarah," he shouted, " I want you out of here, now."
"I'm not," she shoved Maeve aside, "leaving you."
"I'm not giving you an option to go or stay. I'm telling you go!"
Maeve came running at Sarah who caught her shoulders as she dove at her and flipped her head over heels. "No!"
"Fine, have it your way." Jareth whistled and Bagheera came charging from the woods toward Sarah. The horse would nudge her with his muzzle. Sarah would give way, but then stand firm. Bagheera would nudge again. Sarah gave a few steps more. Jareth continued to stave off Tiberon but he was hopelessly distracted by his mortal. His opponent noticed immediately.
"In the name of the Underground," Tiberon shouted before reaching into a hip pouch and withdrawing a small dagger. The blade flew from his hand with amazing speed and deadly accuracy, though to those who watched it seemed to spin handle over blade in slow motion.
"No," Jareth cried as the dagger sunk into the flesh of his devoted stallion. Low on his neck, the entire blade buried in muscle. The stallion made no sound because his windpipe had been punctured. He did not shudder. Instead with all the dignity the king had instilled in him, he bowed to his knees and fell on to his side. The massive weight of the animal pushed the handle of the blade into the wound. Blood poured from beneath him and pooled around his head. Sarah began to cry as she rubbed at his blaze offering her comfort.
"He'll be alright," she tried to reassure Jareth.
Maeve laid her hand on the animals neck, "It's dead you stupid bitch."
"The healer, Jareth, we'll call the healer." Guilt spread through her. If she'd have gone when he'd asked, this wouldn't be happening. How she wished she could reorder time to change things.
"It's fucking glue." At her vapid remark, Sarah charged, tackling her to the ground and assaulting her with closed fists.
"Does insensitivity come naturally to you or have you been working at it?"
"Only as long as you've been working at being jealous Sarah dear," Maeve said sweetly.
"Jealous?" the mortal questioned. "What have I to be jealous of? Certainly not you!"
"Come now," the fey beamed with confidence. "Surely it bothers you to know that Jareth loved me."
"Loved you? He never even liked you."
"I was his long before you'd ever seen this place, dear. I was with him on many nights, a good number of mornings and the occasional afternoon and trust me, he liked it." She circled the girl eyeing her as if she were a street urchin. "Pity we didn't make better friends you and I , I could have taught you plenty. Aboveground men would line up just to watch you twirl your hair."
"Men can find pleasure in a chaffing old pair of boxer shorts." Sarah stood tall beneath Maeve's judgmental stare, "You've never satisfied him."
"And you have?"
Smiling she leveled the fey with her reply. "No, I have taken him to the very edge of satisfaction. Giving him enough so he knows pleasure, but not so much that he's not still hungry for more." Sarah met the fey woman's eyes, "Looks as if the pity is yours. It would appear as if you've one more lesson you could learn."
"Turgomon," the king called.
His assistant stepped in to break up the fight and vainly attempted to drag Sarah away. "One dead," Tiberon called out the score as if it were the second service in a beach volleyball game. "Who's next?"
Furious at the loss of his prized stallion, Jareth attacked him with a new vigor, "Careful what you ask for," he warned.
Off to the side of the raging battle, Sarah sobbed in Turgomon's arms. "It's all my fault," she wailed. "If I had stayed away, gone when he asked."
"Don't do this to yourself. You must remain the strong confident woman who led us here. The king is weakened enough with worry for you. You mustn't give him more to consider. Every man, woman and creature in the service of the king, does so knowing they may be asked to die for him." It is with pride they give their lives for his.
"But Bagheera didn't die for him, he died because of me."
"And Jareth would have sacrificed his entire herd to keep you safe, now not another thought about it."
Deverell and the Shadow King continued their battle. "I'm growing very tired of you, boy," he told Deverell. Then with a pass of his hand, the Shadow King he disappeared. Of course, he was a part of Jareth, it only stands to reason he would have the same powers, perhaps not to the same degree or level of skill, but the same nonetheless. Deverell's sword went crashing to the ground.
Dalkeil and Darien were deeply engaged with one another. A strong arm slung the mace, knocking Darien's sword from his hand. Victory was to be short lived, for just as Dalkeil closed in on the former king, the wind above them whistled. Their attention followed the sound, "Turgomon," the king said, seconds before an arrow pierced his advisor's throat just above the chest plate he wore puncturing his jugular. "Jesus Christ," the king said as he turned on Tiberon wildly swinging his blade, the metal clashing in an attempt to drown out the sound of the arrow slicing the atmosphere, a sound that refused to leave his head. He managed to walk Tiberon backward until he stumbled and fell.
"Just a minute," Darien shouted. Jareth turned his head, a fool's mistake, but his concentration had been shattered by the deaths of his loyal horse and trusted assistant. Tiberon had the chance to scurry away, like the rat he was. "I'll strike you a bargain."
Having lost Tiberon, Jareth approached Darien, who weaponless seemed to be in no position to strike a deal with anyone. "Why should we bargain with you?"
The Representative in the meantime had made his way to Maeve. "I could have killed him," he reminded her. "I was in constant control while his concentration, on the other hand, was broken the moment the mortal laid hands on you. I held my end of the bargain, remember that." She smirked at him, her attention focused completely on Jareth.
"Oh, there are reasons, valid ones you should consider," Darien went on.
"Amuse me," Jareth taunted.
Darien smiled a confident and eerie smile, "There is the fact I am your grandfather."
"A tired excuse I've never held much reliance in."
"There is the fact I am far older than you and what glory is there in beating an old man?"
"When that man is you, there is more glory than I can put into words."
"What did you offer at the tree, when you went to collect the flower?" Maeve asked Tiberon.
"The only thing which is mine to give," he replied, "My blood."
"You offered a blood sacrifice to a witch's spirit with hate in your heart."
"So?"
"Nothing. You'll find out soon enough. A blood sacrifice shall mean death for someone of the bloodline Tiberon. You've given all you have to give and in return you shall get all that you deserve."
The Representative snarled in her ear, "Jareth is in my bloodline too darling, don't forget that."
Maeve watched carefully as Darien and Tiberon turned their heads so that at all times one or the other of them was constantly watching Sarah who knelt beside Turgomon's lifeless body, holding his head, his face strangely proud. It wouldn't have surprised her if the men took pleasure in watching the suffering going on all around them, but there was more to it and she knew that. The Shadow King was still unaccounted for. Their ideas became clear to her. Darien's bargaining chip, his valid reason for Jareth's consideration was Sarah's life. There was no love lost between Maeve and the mortal. Three days ago when they told her Sarah would die, she agreed with it, wanted her gone. It would give her back Jareth with no foolish mortal to come between them. But now, they weren't beating him. They weren't winning anything from him. Rather they exploited his one weakness to steal it from him. Who said there was no honor among thieves? As Darien continued his phony list of reasons Jareth should comply, Maeve ran forward and cried out, "Jareth, they'll kill Sarah!"
Tiberon came up fast behind her, his sword drawn. Jareth turned in time to watch the point of Tiberon's blade coming through her mid-section, creating a four inch gash from which her blood poured. Tiberon did not remove the sword from her gut. Maeve's limbs were obviously weak and the Representative's strength was most likely the only thing holding her up. Still she did not succumb to the wound as easily as Jareth expected, the shear fact she remained alive proved the blade was not fully or even partially iron. This fact caused Jareth to question Tiberon even more. Had he meant to kill him, or to torture him? He looked at his former lover with a mix of confusion and respect on his face.
Her lips curled as if she was trying to smile. A tear fell from her eye as blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. "I have never done good," she coughed blood onto the ground before her, "in all my life. Let me do some." Wincing she continued, "Some good in my death. They plan to kill her." Tiberon pulled a second dagger and held it to Maeve's throat.
"I've kept my end of the bargain," he reminded her.
His words seemed to not exist to her, the blade against her throat non-existent as well. "If you have ever trusted me, trust me now. Move her." Jareth's face twisted in disorientation. Maeve twisted her hand, the same motion the king often made when he was transporting, "Move herrrrrr!" She gurgled the command as the Representative drew the dagger across her throat. Jareth looked, the cut was so clean at first he didn't even see the break in her alabaster skin. The blood seeped out slowly as if it were no more than a paper cut, but as Tiberon began to jerk his sword from her body, Maeve's head tilted back, spreading her neck wide open. Strong stomach or not, the king had to turn away.
When he closed his eyes, he saw the motion Maeve had made with her hand and recalled her warning, 'Move her.' Jareth looked at Sarah, the familiar whirring reclaiming the air above him. A pass of his hand and the mortal who had been kneeling at the side of his assistant, was now beside him. She clung to him, terror stealing her breath. Where she had been they heard the thump and the reverberation of the arrow as it stuck in the ground. "What's happening?" she cried into his shoulder as he held her to him.
"No one else has to die Jareth. You send your men home, I'll send my men home and we'll fight for my freedom. If I lose, my death. If I win, your kingdom."
Temptation had never been so great. Free of Darien and all his mischief. "Agreed," he said slowly.
"No," Sarah begged him, "please don't do this. Leave it to the Triumvirate. They'll take care of him."
"And we see how far that has gotten us up until this point. His reign of terror has to end." The king kissed her. "Dalkeil, you and Deverell take Sarah back to the house while I..."
"Ah Jareth, I don't mean to be technical, but I said your men and my men. Unless milady has a surprise for you, she is not one of your men," Darien objected.
"No deal!" the king shouted.
Darien sneered at him, "Son find the Shadow King and leave, Jareth certainly understands what it means to stand on one's word."
"You haven't seen the last of me, Jareth," Tiberon warned him
The king glanced back at him, "I look forward to it." Deverell and Dalkeil stood ready to receive the king's command. "Take Turgomon back with you, notify his family."
"Yes your majesty," the men said with a bow.
"Stand back, love. I have one more thing to finish before we go home." He'd made it sound simple. Dust off his lapels, sleigh the dragon, mount the horse and they could ride off into the sunset. All in a day's work. But as Sarah backed away from the two men she couldn't rid herself of the ominous sense that death had not finished its visit in this meadow.
Darien retrieved his sword. Jareth assumed a stance and the two men began to battle, fiercely and fluidly. For each attack there was a counter. The clanking metal sang through the meadow and it appeared there would never be a victor. "You're growing tired grandson. Admit I've beaten you and I'll spare your life when I take your kingdom."
"Tired no, bored maybe. Admit I've beaten you and I'll suggest to the Triumvirate that death would be an inappropriate punishment for you."
"Afraid your luck continues to worsen, grandson." Darien made a quick move toward him, his left leg sweeping the king at the ankles as his blade locked with what had once been his grandfather's sword and lifting it from Jareth's hand. Jareth lie on his back, propped on his elbow, stunned and out of breath. He tried to stand. Darien stabbed his sword into ground and rearmed himself with the blade he slid through his own brother's body. "With your uncle it was different. I had never killed a man before. Fear forced me to do it quickly, but since then I've had time to imagine what it would be like. Get on your feet." Jareth rose. Darien continued to hold the tip of the sword inches from him. "I've thought about what it would feel like to have someone beg for their life, the total control, the utter sense of supremacy. Beg me to spare you Jareth. Tell me how your servants and subjects would be lost. Tell me all the reasons to let you live."
The king did not look at the blade. He did not look at Sarah. He kept his eyes hard on Darien. "Kill me if you need to so badly, live with two men's blood on your hands, but if you thought your daughter, my mother wrecked havoc on this realm in death, her torment will be a memory compared to what I will put you through."
The former king took a step back before unleashing a verbal tirade on Jareth. "Your mother. Let's talk about your mother. Ungrateful witch, she was. Took all I gave her and grew soft on it. Married that useless man and what good did it do her but to bring her end." He was a step away from where Jareth stood. He turned on his grandson, "At least I will have the pleasure of killing her biggest mistake." Lunging forward he aimed the sword at Jareth's heart and the king prepared to take the blow, his eyes wide, his posture perfect.
Sitting on the sideline no longer suited Sarah. So many thoughts crossed her mind in that split second. All the king had done for her, all that he had sacrificed when he petitioned the Triumvirate to go Aboveground. The exception he had made to love her. The gift of his soul. She stood and ran toward the men, placing her body between the sword and Jareth. In that instant she knew no fear. If death wanted her, let it take her. It would be better than facing life Aboveground without Jareth. Her eyes wide, she watched Darien, mad with hate. Drool in the corner of his mouth, spit flying as he cried out. Jareth grasped her shoulders ready to toss her aside, but it was too late. The blade pierced Sarah's left shoulder. Both the men wore a look of shock. Jareth supported Sarah's limp body. "What have you done?" he shouted at his grandfather. "Sarah? Sarah darling, speak to me."
"It burns," she said to him. "I can feel it spreading and it burns, Jareth."
"You're going to be fine, love, fine do you hear me? I've got help coming for you." It was a lie, but he wanted to reassure him. "We've been through worse than this you and we'll get through more together." Jareth laid her tenderly on the ground. He felt her pain and it had nothing to do with the fact his soul was inside her. Jareth stood and pulled Darien's sword from the ground. "I'm through playing games. Let's adjust our wager. You win and you can put that ungrateful son of your in my throne, but if I win, I put you in the ground." Jareth lunged. Despite the prior king's ability to thrive on evil, Darien hadn't meant to stab Sarah. Regardless of the fact that he wanted to kill the king, he expected someone else to off the mortal. The whole situation had shaken him a bit and allowed Jareth to quickly take the upper hand. A series of swift moves and the king was able to press his grandfather against a tree at the edge of the meadow. Jareth pressed the sword against Darien's throat.
"Kill me and get it over with," the coward requested. Jareth pulled back the sword and sunk it deep into the tree trunk beside Darien's head.
"Death is too easy an escape for you. You will go to the Triumvirate. You will confess to your murders of the past and the murders of your present, both the ones committed by your hand and the others at your instruction."
"Jareth," Sarah called to him from behind.
Reclaiming his sword from Darien, he turned his attention to the wounded mortal, as he slid it between his sash and breeches. The wound at her shoulder bleed through the tight top she wore and stained it, the deep red turned the yellow fabric orange. Life seemed to seep from her with every gush her pulse pushed forth from the wound. Bent over her, his ear close to her lips where Jareth could hear but the faint whisper of her request. Darien picked up a rock and charged Jareth. Sarah mumbled something Jareth couldn't hear.
"What, love?" He knelt on the ground beside her, pushing the sword hilt from his stomach.
"Behind you," she repeated. The king felt the weight of Darien as the upward pointed tip of the blade sunk into his grandfather's abdominal cavity, exposed from beneath his armor by his risen arms.
"Someday I knew," he said, "I would die by the same sword with which I killed. It's only fitting."
The Goblin King stood watching in the center of the meadow as Darien stepped back, pulling the sword free and spilling his blood over his hands.. Death surrounded him on all sides, Bagheera his steed. Turgomon, his ally. Darien, his grandfather. His mind counted the casualties, but his heart would never manage to associate a number with the loss. Knees quivered for the first time as fear for Sarah ravaged him. 'How would he live when she was gone?' he thought. Sending her home was a crushing blow, but seeing her die was a fatal one. Jareth let himself fall to the ground again, folding his arms around her.
Sarah looked up at him, tears in her eyes, "Can you please take me home now?" she whispered.
"Take you home, home, you want to go home," he laughed at how simple she made it sound. Yes love, we can go home." Scooping her up into his arms, Jareth climbed the hill to Chataigne. He couldn't help but think how easy it was to mount the gelding and reflect upon his own lost love, Bagheera. No horse currently owned or to be acquired would ever hold that stallion's place in his heart. He looked down at what had served as their battlefield. Maeve's body folded back at the knees, her head hung at an awkward angle. Darien folded in half at the waist the boulder he'd intended to crush Jareth's skull with still with in his reach, were he able to reach. He'd had many a sad day in his life, witnessed many a somber occasion, but this had been the saddest of them all. The throne was not worth the blood spilt this day. Even Darien's being brought to justice wasn't worth all this. 'Justice,' he scoffed. What justice would Darien know now? Truth be told, even if he had lived, the former king would never have met justice. In his mind, he had committed no crime and therefore any punishment would haven been just another unwarranted attack against him. He would never feel the pain he caused. Being dead, he wouldn't feel anything, ever again.
Half way home, Sarah fell unconscious. Jareth thought, he'd have to start training a new horse tomorrow, not to mention find a new assistant. He considered offering the position to Deverell, but had doubts the fey would accept. Being in the Underground didn't seem to make him very happy, but today he'd fought at the king's side and he had fought well.
Thoughts of Sarah dying snuck into his mind, but the king didn't let them stay long. She had to live, for all they had endured, she had to live, for all that waited ahead of them. There was no alternative to her living. The bleeding in the wound had stopped and begun to gel. Her breath had settled into a slow easy rhythm. What was normally porcelain skin had drained to bone white, even her ravenesque black hair seemed grey. When the horse was close enough to find his own way home. Jareth transported Sarah to his chamber.
Too many times she lie covered by the duvet, so weak she seemed swallowed up by it. But each time he managed to get her back, this time would be no different. Jareth rang for Arulan. No one came. He ran into her room. No one was there. In fact no one was on the second floor at all. He went to his office and found Deverell there.
"Your majesty?" he said surprised. He and the healer were both looking over Arulan.
"What's happened to her?" Jareth asked desperately.
The healer approached him, "They've been poisoned, something added to the water supply. It's a time released sleeping formula. The effects shouldn't last more than twenty-four hours, but it's managed to spread among the entire castle, except for..."
"Everyone at the battleground," Deverell summed up.
"And those effected, they'll be fine when the time limit is up?" the king asked.
"Indeed."
"Then your services are needed upstairs, in my chamber. I'm afraid Sarah's been stabbed."
"Stabbed?" Deverell asked.
The king took him aside as the healer led them back up to the second floor. "After you left, Darien and I were battling and he bested me, fair and square. Sarah threw herself between us and took the blade."
"Your majesty, I'm sorry."
"There's more, afterward, when I was tending to her, Darien charged from behind and impaled himself on the sword I had in my belt."
"Darien is dead?"
"Aye."
"Darien is dead."
"Say it fifteen more times, it won't change the fact. Tiberon isn't through with us, not by a long shot and when he finds out about his father, his vengeance will pale in comparison to what we witnessed today."
The king, the healer, Dalkeil and Deverell stood at the corner's of Sarah's bed and waited as the healer finished his examination. "Was there iron in the blade that stabbed her?"
"Yes," Jareth grimaced.
Sighing, he tore his eyes from the king, "Last time I stood here with you I thought how lucky a child whose life was saved because of the soul you gifted her, but now, I regret to inform you, that same gift might steal the life it saved."
"There's got to be a drawing potion you can use," the king suggested.
Dalkeil moved away from the bed embarrassed at how he had behaved with her the last time she was conscious.
"I've got something I can prepare which should pull the iron from her blood, but it all depends on how deep the iron has spread and I have no way of knowing that."
Deverell looked at the healer through squinted eyes, "So you're not even going to try?"
"Oh I'm going to try, but I want us all to be realistic about the expectations of this kind of treatment." He excused himself to the king's bath and began preparation of the poultice.
Looking at the king, Deverell said as positively as possible, "I'm sure she'll pull through."
"Thank you," he replied. "I see no point in no one running this kingdom, even while it's sleeping, why don't you go about my business. I think I'd like to stay with Sarah." Deverell bowed and left. "You too Dalkeil. Go and check on the goblins or the staff, see if anyone has awaken yet."
"Your majesty, I have a confession to make." Jareth looked at him with great interest. "Earlier today when milady took charge of our expedition, I was quite unkind to her." His look of interest changed to surprise.
"I have never known you to be unkind."
"Thank you sire, but I was truly unkind in my words and in my attitude. I'm heartfully sorry, but I've not the opportunity to apologize."
"Well, I assure you this is a forgiving woman and when she wakes up, you can offer an apology with absolutely no fear of it being rejected. Now, do as I asked you."
"Yes your majesty. Thank you your majesty."
The healer returned to the bedside and applied the poultice to Sarah's shoulder. "Change this every two hours. I've left more of the mixture in your washroom. Keep her hydrated and comfortable."
"How long will it take for her to get up and about?"
"I don't think you understand your majesty. Sarah may never get up and about. There's nothing more I can do for her and I can offer you no guarantees."
"Is there anything else I can do?" Jareth asked sullenly.
"Pray," he admitted. "And get as many other people to join you in that prescription as possible." Jareth's eyes couldn't focus, his lungs had forgotten how to breathe. There had to be more, more than time and patience and prayer. Wasn't loving her enough? Didn't it count for anything anymore. 'No,' Jareth thought, loving her is what put her in this position in the first place.'
