Author's Note: Been a long time, hasn't it? I just wanted to let you all know that this is the last chapter before the end. The next chapter should hopefully be the final one, unless my ideas change in the interim.
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"Where is she?" Lyndon asked.
The Goblin King didn't appear to have heard the question. He continued twisting the crystal on his fingers, concentrating on thoughts he didn't choose to share with others.
It was, after all, his right. There were some privileges for the Head of a Family. He was not answerable to anyone else. No one!
"Jareth?"
The others in the Cathedral had chosen not to disturb the Goblin King when he came stalking into the room. He wore the face that humans saw, but the flames licked in his eyes, warning that his temper was simmer just beneath the surface.
The girl was not with him.
Lyndon worried for that. Because the girl was dangerous with her new powers and she should not be left to run wild through the Underground. "Jareth, I demand to know where she is."
Blue-hazel eyes snapped up, murderous and blind. "Demand?" Jareth echoed, "You have a demand? For me?"
Lyndon resigned himself to the inevitable.
The Goblin King rose and advanced slowly.
Lyndon was taller by a few inches, broader by a few inches, and far more used to physical combat. But Jareth was the stronger, the more enraged, and ultimately the more powerful.
Lyndon could do one of three things- beg for mercy and retract his words, fight Jareth and depose him, or take his punishment in silence.
Jareth lifted his hand.
Lyndon didn't move, didn't flinch. He was prepared to take whatever consequences there were.
Jareth only grasped his shoulder and closed the gap between them. He tilted his head defiantly and challenged his old friend with his eyes. "A demand," he mocked, "Do go on. Take it. Anything. Take it all. And drink while you're at it."
Lyndon didn't move. He looked back as blankly as he could.
"No?" Jareth shoved himself away. "Am I too weak, too sullied?"
"It is not allowed," Lyndon replied.
"I am telling you to do it."
"Our rules are clear."
"Our rules are always clear," Jareth snorted, "Is that how I've let you grow? Creatures that cannot attack? Impotent and useless?"
No one in the Cathedral dared answer that ringing, echoing, shattering voice. One of the newer vampires opened her mouth to fulsomely deny every charge but Pel caught her by the back of her neck. She was just out of training; he wouldn't like to see her end without putting that training to good work.
"No answers amongst you. Eighteen of you. Eighteen grown, mature vampires. And not one of you has a word to say."
Lyndon was proud of his warriors. He had trained them himself, just as he had helped Jareth hone his skills. He had been there by Jareth's side when the young vampiric magician had made his own way in the world with a price on his neck and ambitious dreams.
"Not one of you desires to challenge me." Jareth's voice dropped to an ominous quiet.
Lyndon very slowly lowered his eyes.
Jareth had never demanded it. He had refused the bowing and scraping, annoyed with the mysterious intricacies of courtly behavior. Jareth had been born to plain speaking and had grown in carefully shaded words. Jareth could understand words. Behavior was another matter.
The Goblin King left the catacombs on foot.
Lyndon lifted his eyes and turned, brisk and business-like to counteract the awkwardness. The others knew what was happening. Jareth might evade and downplay the situation, but they knew. And while the family was so far unwilling to question Jareth, Lyndon's mind was practical and he would not be surprised to face defiance and doubt on those faces behind him.
The Underground was no longer safe for them. The girl was imposing her own emotions, her own fancies. The land was growing unfriendly to their kind and Jareth was powerless to change that.
So Lyndon put them to work scouring the Castle for the girl.
"Bring her back unharmed," he commanded, "And for your sakes, try not to frighten her."
She was untrained, and likely to do more harm than was necessary. Lyndon had lost too many of his vampires to this hostile land without losing more to the land's hostile enchantress.
The vampires left on their hunt, silent as cats in a graveyard.
Lyndon went after Jareth himself.
But not to speak to. Life forbid he tried to interfere! No, Lyndon wanted to keep an eye on him, to watch him and perhaps watch out for him.
Lyndon was a very practical being. He had chosen to follow Jareth, his cynicism finding a refreshing change in Jareth's ruthless aspirations. He had seen something in the young one of so long ago, something that had made him pause and look again- a hunger beyond bloodlust, a vanity beyond fine coats and mansions, a confidence that had nothing to with eternity but was of the person. The remainder of the person Jareth had been. The soul itself, in all its hungry, vain, confident glory.
After all, was not Jareth a manipulation of the name 'Jared'? And did not 'Jared' mean 'Ordained'?
Lyndon had never relied heavily on the meaning of names but in this case it was only one more sign, one more portent. A gleaming, glittering facet of a legend.
Jareth was a legend- quicksilver and brilliant.
Oh, yes, Jareth had been very calculated about all of it.
Lyndon couldn't trust this unexpected break in the legend. Not after so many careful deliberations and intelligent guesses. Jareth never worked blind. He had hidden for the years when he learned the contours of his magic, moving fretfully and fitfully from one night to the next, charming and cursing to live from hand to mouth. Lyndon was not a practical person but he had sworn himself to Jareth's side from genuine admiration.
It cut too deep, the admiration; it was for more than the vulnerabilities, the wounds behind the strengths. Lyndon knew this vampire as intimately as he knew himself and Jareth was the legend. Lyndon respected him enough to reason that killing him would preserve the legend. Lyndon liked Jareth too much to see him dragged through the dust like a stallion too old and too tired.
That Jareth was tired was an understatement. He hadn't slept for two days, too caught up with his conquering mortal. He hadn't slept for long before her return, so worried was he for his Labyrinth.
Lyndon had watched for him then too and he had seen the figure vanish into the Labyrinth, watched hands tremble with pure control as Jareth fed power into the stones themselves, trying to bleach the girl's mind right out of them. But the Labyrinth was too big, and Jareth hadn't nearly enough.
The ruination of his dreams was painful to watch.
Jareth didn't take defeat well.
Lyndon found him outside the Goblin City, studying the goblins with a peculiar expression.
"They need fresh blood," Jareth suddenly spoke up, "Tell them to choose one goblin between three. I can't guarantee it, but the magic should have kept the things human enough."
He didn't specify who 'they' were, and Lyndon didn't ask.
Sometimes Lyndon forgot that his sire had been Jareth's, and that Jareth, for all his delicate fragility, was at least skilled if not equally comparable. Even if Jareth did not always choose to display it.
The Steward came forward to play his part in the decision, drawing closer but never to his side. "Where is she?" he asked again.
"In the Castle, perhaps. I left her there."
"This has to end," Lyndon advised, "Turn her if you cannot kill her."
"Too late. I told her what she faces. Turning her now won't be wise." Jareth's lips twisted at the irony. He had inspired fear when his power had been discovered, and in his turn her was afraid. Of a mortal girl of fifteen, no less.
Lyndon sighed. "She is not happy, is she?"
Jareth sent him a speaking look over his shoulder. And then a thought seemed to strike him and he turned fully, hands clasped behind his back as he stalked his oldest ally. "What is your opinion of all this?"
"You have done what you thought right."
"Well, what do you think of my right?"
Lyndon pressed down on his temper, annoyed at being circled like prey. He himself had taught Jareth his caution. For all those times in hiding when they neither of them could afford to draw human or supernatural attention. Jareth had twisted and twined caution and predatory instinct to something obscene, something needling. There was nothing in him to suggest restraint, merely pending judgment.
"I'm no longer infallible, no longer King. You don't think me weak? Pathetic? Fighting a losing battle, even?"
Jareth stopped to face his Steward and Lyndon tightened his jaw as he saw something quite unique.
"Tell me, old friend. What do you see?"
Jareth was asking in all honesty. A rare sight indeed. Lyndon had rarely seen that exhausted question in the unmatched eyes. He had certainly not noticed the stale dust of clothes worn too long, or the nervous twitches and dark circles.
"Lyndon?"
Jareth was on the brink of breaking open in the most spectacular way.
"I think you've deluded yourself," Lyndon announced crisply.
Jareth drew breath sharply into his lungs, seemingly stung by such cool disapproval. It was a ghost of a human habit, a gesture that still came naturally to all of them.
"You're in love with the girl," Lyndon elaborated, "You don't think or act except to see her, talk with her, bait her. I wonder if you ever wanted her to lose the challenge."
"You must be insane." Jareth laughed. His voice cracked. "This was hardly my goal. This… defeat."
"You might not have wanted to lose," Lyndon said implacably, "But you didn't want her to lose either."
"Ridiculous. One must lose."
"You never saw it that way," Lyndon observed.
Jareth looked up at him, staring intently as though to read something in the muscles of his cheeks, on his high forehead. Behind his back, the Goblin City continued oblivious to the chaos loose in the crumbling ruins surrounding it.
"As your friend," Lyndon reminded him.
Thin, pale lips quirked up at the corner and then Jareth nodded and turned back to the goblins. "Share with me," he invited, eyeing his prey.
Lyndon let him choose; let him single out one goblin from all the other grubby, squirming bodies.
The goblins never learned. The chosen one stopped in the street and put down his sack to pick up the bright crystal winking on the cobbles. He vanished from the City and no one else noticed. He squeaked when he blinked up at his King, part of his brain screaming at the danger that his weak mind was not able to process.
Jareth didn't give him the time to panic. He waved his hand and the puckered eyelids closed in spite of themselves. In less than two heartbeats, the goblin was unconscious.
Lyndon nodded and sat down with Jareth. He picked up a limp arm and bared the warm wrist. It was not an appetizing meal, but very little had been in the past few weeks. He tore open the flesh and greedily drank the fresh, sweet blood. The taste was wrong; he could tell from the thinner feel to the liquid, from the almost bitter aftertaste just behind his fangs. But it was fresh and he could feel the heartbeat in the pumping veins.
Jareth chose the neck. He drank slower, neater, as if he were savouring it.
They both fed in silence until the wounds began to thicken and the blood flow began to lessen. The heart was slowing down. They fed for an hour and when they were done the body was almost depleted.
Lyndon wiped his mouth with a handkerchief and sighed, eyeing the shriveled body with distaste.
Jareth drew his hand down the mottled face, lingering on the soft eyelids and haired chin.
"A man," he mused, "At heart a man with no notion of change, no understanding. No brain."
"It is either us or them," Lyndon stated.
"Oh, they were easy targets. Nothing to do with survival by this one. More fool them!" Jareth stood up and dusted his hands. "Better?" he asked with a grin.
"I feel more human," Lyndon quipped. He added a sardonic bow, smiling with his eyes where he rarely did with his mouth.
Jareth only laughed and threw an arm around his shoulders, drawing them together in that exhilarated giddiness that came with feeding. Resting his temple against Lyndon's dark hair and laughing quietly. Never pausing to breath. Laughing and laughing with sheer lift in spirits.
Lyndon held him up and indulged his whimsy. He always had. Something about Jareth gave him the idea that it would be worthwhile.
"We don't need her," Jareth was saying, "We can roam. There are other places. There must be other places. Far away. A real-life adventure. What do you say?"
"It will be hard going."
"We can make Pel call out marching orders," Jareth said mischievously.
Lyndon couldn't help grinning at that. The younger vampire had been the first Jareth had turned. As the Head of their little Family, only Jareth had that right. And he had chosen a weak, emaciated little teenaged pickpocket on the streets of Cornwall. Lyndon had questioned only once. Jareth had shushed him, dressed the youth in the finest silks and satins, and they had appeared at the English Court with more jewellery than half the noblewomen.
"You sent the others out after Sarah, didn't you?" Jareth whispered into his ear.
Lyndon nodded and shifted the arm around his shoulders.
"Mr. Brace," Jareth sighed, "You're too logical."
"The girl must be dealt with. Better in our sight than away from it."
"And you expect them to follow your orders?"
"I expect them to do what it is right for the Family. And you are the Head of that Family."
Jareth clapped him on the back and began the walk back to the catacombs, lean thighs flexing as though impatient to be off, to quicken the pace in a burst of adrenaline. "Let's see what she says. She's had the time to think. I have high hopes for this girl."
"Will you turn her?"
"If I'm in love with the girl, why would I want to destroy her?" Jareth mocked.
Lyndon kept his hand near his gun, the hair on his arms prickling as they walked closer to the creature's lair. It had been away for two days, now, but there was no knowing what it might choose to do.
"Perhaps because you love her," Lyndon said absently, "Love means possession, does it not?"
"Your ideas are terribly archaic. What the hell do you mean- possession? How can a chit like Sarah be possessed?"
"Very easily."
"With her power?"
"There will always be someone with power over her," Lyndon pointed out, "You said that yourself. Have you forgotten?"
"I meant her mother."
"And you."
"I, my friend, am a monster. Did she not tell you? I stole her baby brother and tried to seduce her in a magical Labyrinth." Jareth's smirk was brash and unapologetic.
"You did do all those things," Lyndon agreed.
"Oh, I did much more."
They arrived back at the Cathedral to find Sarah struggling in the tight grip of two vampires, screaming at them to let her go.
Lyndon melted away to the side but Jareth stayed in the shadows for the space of three seconds, mesmerized by the almost glowing savagery on Sarah's young face. Her hair was tangled and her clothes were dirty and there was a streak of mud on her cheek and fingers, but she was fighting the grip and fighting the vampires.
How she managed not to tap into her anger was an intriguing concept in itself.
"What is going on here?"
At the first word his vampires dropped away.
Sarah found herself on the ground in less time than she could groan. Then strong hands were helping her up and kindly leading her to a chair.
"Sit down, Sarah," Jareth instructed quietly.
He handed her into a chair with the utmost politeness, before calmly rolling up her sleeves to see whether she had suffered any bruises.
"Must I enforce my commands?" he asked.
There was no need to raise either his gaze or his voice. His vampires knew very well that he was a hair's span away from unleashing the punishment of their eternal lives. Jareth was very imaginative with punishments, and he used them as a parent would with a fractious child. Jareth was not without his annoyances.
"What's going on?" Sarah panted, yanking her arm away, "Why'd they drag me down here? What do you want with me?"
He raised an eyebrow at her and sat on the table before her. "Why, nothing." He looked almost surprised at the questions. "Should I want something?"
"No! But they said… they said…"
"Yes?" Jareth prompted.
Sarah shut down and looked away. "I want to go home," she said mutinously, "You said I could go home tonight."
Jareth tipped her chin up and smiled down into those suspicious green eyes. "So you shall," he promised, "Let me change my shirt."
"What?"
Sarah was clearly confused. She hadn't expected to be given her way. Or to hear Jareth sound so… domesticated? 'Change his shirt', indeed! Why'd he need to change… she saw the blood and didn't want to ask. She didn't think she'd like it.
"However," he said, "You do know that a decision must be made."
"I can't think of it now," she pleaded.
"As you like. The Underground is going nowhere. You only have forever."
He vanished for a while and Sarah didn't want to look at the vampires. She hugged herself and poked morbidly at the bruises on her arms to give herself something to focus on. Something besides the knowing smirk on Jareth's face, something besides the skin just below the hollow at the base of his throat.
When he returned, it was in a burgundy jacket that reached to his knees. She'd never seen that one before and it startled her to see such a vivid colour.
He sniffed unobtrusively and looked at Lyndon. The other vampire looked steadily back but those eyes were laughing. She was far more 'interested' than Jareth had previously thought. He straightened further, teasing her by moving in just such a way, in striking subtle poses and presenting subtle attractions.
"I can go home right now, right?" she asked.
"Right now," Jareth agreed.
She nodded and stood up. Looking quickly at the vampires around the room and then looking away again, catching Jareth's wild gaze and holding it. It was almost repulsive, she told herself, yet strangely fascinating. Like staring at a tiger before it pounces for the kill.
"You can have the Underground," she said bravely, "I don't want it."
She held her breath but Jareth's smile only softened.
"Child," he said gently, "I'm afraid it will never be that easy."
She let go and didn't know what to say, where to look. It wasn't embarrassment, it was confusion. She didn't want the Underground. She loved the thought of it, the idea of magic, but to rule it as Jareth had done was nothing she had ever dreamed of. She couldn't contemplate leaving her family, or Earth, for a world she could barely understand.
"Come, then," Jareth said, holding out a hand, "Let me take you back."
He wasn't wearing his gloves and his fingers were dry and cool against hers. Sarah tightened them when the world span away.
Jareth held on just as tightly, though for reasons best known to himself.