The Goblin King's Daughter
By: DemonSaya
Chapter Thirteen
It was the second time that Sarah had experienced that crushing sensation, however it was enough to know what it was. Sure enough, when she opened her eyes, she found herself in Jareth's Castle, her daughter still in her arms, her lover's arms still around her.
The young fae who had kidnapped her daughter was limp and ashen in the Goblin King's grasp, and as soon as they were material again, she heard him shouting orders at goblins that skittered by. "Get me a healer, now! Gribbly, assemble your men! Meoph, I want a status report; I need to know where we stand in terms of 'battle readiness'."
One goblin in a colander-helmet looked up at them through wide-eyes, and then whispers went up. "Girl...the girl, the princess..." Sarah watched in half-amusement as the colander-goblin crawled up Erin's pant leg and looked up at her with that look of wide-eyed devotion that she'd seen a few goblins gaze at her with as well. Erin looked up at her, eyes wide and surprised, but they didn't have much time to dwell on it, because Jareth was already moving, carrying the unconscious prince in his arms.
Sarah ushered her daughter after him, through the winding castle, until they arrived at a room that was in the same wing she and Jareth had slept in. The door swung open as if someone had pushed it and hit the wall hard enough that she jumped. That was the first real hint she had regarding how deep Jareth's frustration went. Erin pulled away from her and rushed into the room behind her father. She, herself, followed at a much calmer pace.
She knew enough to be wary when Jareth was feeling angry. She didn't think he'd hurt her or their child, but he was very volatile and sometimes physical hurts didn't sting as badly as a poorly chosen word. "How bad is it," Sarah asked gently, watching as the Goblin King ripped the younger fae's shirt off.
"I won't know until I speak to a healer," he said, his voice tight with emotion. "Damn fool boy, you'd better have an ounce of the fight that your mother had, because if I have to go to the land of the dead and haul you back, there's going to be more hell to pay waiting for you here."
Erin, obviously distressed, gripped her father's shirt. "What's wrong?"
Jareth snarled softly, whirling on her. Sarah could see when he realized that it was Erin and not her facing him because he seemed to check his temper. Lightly, he brushed a finger over an open wound that was still oozing blood slowly. The wound wasn't clean, it was red, angry, and puss-filled blisters were around the edge of it. "Whenever he received this, poison was introduced into his system. There are several similar to this, but this is by far the worst. The adrenaline and his inability to really rest caused what should have been a minor injury to cultivate a nearly fatal wound."
Erin looked towards Kieran and Sarah saw the tears shimmering in her daughter's eyes- Erin, who didn't let people see her cry. Erin, who always pretended to be strong so that occasionally, Sarah could be weak. Erin who crawled into Sarah's bed when her mother couldn't sleep and would lay there, gently petting her hair until whatever stresses or worries she faced were washed away.
The healer entered, a squat goblin with a bag almost as large as she, and looked around the room, then at the prince on the bed. "What's the trouble?"
"Esmie," Jareth said, his tone quiet. "I need your skills, because this is beyond mine."
The healer looked at the king and then climbed up onto the stool that was beside the bed. "Oh hell-fire," the woman murmured. "Highness, you might want to clear the room."
He turned and looked towards Sarah, then glanced at Erin. "Erin, you should go. It is unlikely that this will be pleasant to watch, and I would spare you the trauma."
Erin's jaw jutted out and she glared at him. "I'm not leaving." Sarah almost smiled when she heard that same stubborn tone that her own voice always got.
Jareth sighed, lifting his gaze to her. "Sarah, could you-"
"No," she said quietly. "I couldn't." His eyes flashed with anger so she continued. "Jareth, if I were in her situation – if that was you laying there on that bed, possibly dying – do you think I would be able to leave?"
His eyes flashed with something and his face looked hurt, wounded. He did, she realized. Until she'd said that, that was exactly what he'd thought. Her heart clenched in pain and her hands tightened on her daughter's shoulders. After a moment of looking at her in silence, Jareth turned back to the patient on the bed. "Very well," he said, but it was more a ghost of a comment than a genuine permissive.
Sarah gently guided Erin to the other side of the bed and then smiled at the goblin leaning over the prince. "At the very least, we'll be extra sets of hands should you need them," she offered.
Esmie eyed her, and then a crooked grin turned up her lips. "That'll do, ma'am, that'll do."
.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.
It was several hours later when Jareth finally left the room with Sarah, feeling exhausted and wiped out. His precious one didn't look much better herself. Erin had spent more than half the treatment holding Kieran's hand and looking up at his face with a look of tension that he didn't know how to calm.
It was only when Esmie finally closed her pack and announced that she'd done all that she could and the rest was up to the prince that he decided to give his daughter some time alone with the youth. He knew that when the boy was awake that his daughter would let them know.
Right now, all he wanted was to curl up in a bed with this lady, have her embrace him, and hold his head against her breast so that he could listen to the steady rhythm of her heart. He'd seen the pain that had marred her face when he hadn't responded to her query. He'd been certain that she wanted to leave, wanted nothing more than to get away from him as soon as this was all over, but her words...
They implied that she did not wish to leave. At the ball as well, she'd expressed her frustration because he refused to demand that she stay. Maybe it was selfish of him, but his pride would not allow him to ask her to remain at his side, and his heart acquiesced with that, because if he said yes and she said no, it would completely destroy him.
He was so caught up with his thoughts that he was startled when Sarah's hand laced gently through his. He looked towards her, seeing some shy and uncomfortable sort of expression on her face. "Sarah?"
"Jareth," she answered back, her eyes not meeting his. When they did, however, he wished they hadn't. Her eyes were filled with turmoil. He wanted to ease the pain on her face, but he hadn't the faintest idea how to, and he wasn't sure she'd let him. His hand lifted and he reached forward to touch her and he watched as her eyes fell closed and she turned her face willingly into his touch.
So much had happened in these weeks; so many seemingly impossible things that had occurred, from Sarah calling his name to meeting his daughter for the first time. It was enough to break a man. He was not entirely certain if he was broken at this point. "Sarah."
Without further word or comment, he drug her against him, embracing her tightly. His body reacted to her closeness, had always reacted, but he didn't want that. His heart didn't want that. He held her for a long time, his face pressed into her shoulder, one hand gripping her hip, the other 'round the back of her head stroking her soft hair. "Come to bed with me," he whispered softly. "Not to make love, but to be with me."
He felt her shift, and he drew back, looking down into her face, seeing confusion and curiosity in her deep green eyes. He didn't speak further, but a sudden understanding came to her eyes and she gave a faintly timid nod that seemed to him, a little out of character. However, if she was feeling unsteady and uncertain as he was, then he supposed it was understandable. Besides, it was the first time he'd invited her to his own room. Every other night, if they spent it together, it had been in her own bed.
He drew her down the hall to the large double doors in front of his room and gently set his hand upon it. "Sarah, rest your palm beside mine." That curious look again, but she did as he requested and the doors swung open.
"What was that," she asked, looking up at him.
He hesitated to tell her, but decided it was a little late for that. "I keyed this room so it would recognize you." The answer obviously surprised her, because her eyes widened and lips parted innocently. "Had I not, it would not have allowed you inside, and if you tried to enter, it might have harmed you."
"Oh," she breathed, and he realized that she saw something in that that he wasn't sure he wanted her to see just yet. "Then...that's why you've always come to my room?"
Slowly, he nodded, thinking that might not have been the only knowledge she'd gathered. "I need never be keyed to a room because the Labyrinth recognizes me. It will not harm me. However it might recognize you, you are not a sovereign, and it might seek to harm you to protect me...even if I don't need it."
She smiled faintly and as they entered, he saw her fondly caress the door. His heart twisted a little in his chest, but he managed to convince himself that it was nothing more than hunger pains. As if catching that stray thought, a tray appeared on the table that sat in front of the window, with two chairs pushed up on either side of it. He saw Sarah notice as well and the smile broadened. "Did this room just read my mind?"
He gave her a faintly guilty smile. "Perhaps a bit." Gently, he led her towards one of the chairs and waited until she was comfortably sat before he seated himself.
The meal was light fare, some fruits, cheeses and breads. He saw the sliced peaches that were dusted with sugar and speared one with a fork, lifting it in offering to the woman who shared his table. She eyed it, and then glanced up at him with an arched brow. "Peaches again?"
He gave her a smile, knowing it showed all of his teeth and her cheeks flushed faintly. An intriguing response. "I've always had a fondness for peaches," he countered, still offering the fruit to her. "Do you want it?"
She glanced up at his face for a moment, then back at the peach. Then, wonder of wonders, she closed her eyes and parted her lips. It was remarkably similar to the expression she wore when he kissed her – he should know, he'd peaked a few times – and he nearly choked. Covering himself, he slipped the peach past her lips and watched her bite down on the end.
Damn, he was about to say sod the plan regarding holding her. How could a mortal woman have so much innate sexuality? Once she finished her bite, her eyes opened and she looked up at him through her coal colored lashes. His breath fled him and he set the fork down, gently wiping some of the juice away from her lips with his thumb. It was like she was magic, she seduced him without even trying.
Time to change the subject, he decided, returning his gaze to his food and dropping his hand. "Sarah, we have to talk," he said softly.
He felt her tension before he looked up. Anxiety was written on her face and he saw her twist the napkin between her hands. When she realized he was watching her, she quickly took a bite of bread and a sip of water. "About what?"
She couldn't quite keep that worry out of her voice, he noticed. Gently, he set one hand over hers. "You needn't worry, precious. It is only regarding what happened those last few moments in the carriage. Not about...our relationship." He wasn't sure how he managed to keep his voice steady, but somehow, he did it. He saw her relax and a smile graced his lips, but he knew it looked sad; a pathetic parody of happiness. "Sarah, I believe the Underground is trying to change you in its image."
She looked at him, surprised. "What do you mean?"
He sliced a few berries and arranged them on a piece of bread before beginning to mash them up. "It happens sometimes. When a person has been here awhile, they...change. They are still human, that never changes, but they are no longer 'mortal'. It may be because you have already been to the Underground once, or because of how close you kept magic to your life or-" he cut himself off, almost afraid to voice that thought.
"Or," she prompted, and her hand came to rest on his own.
He lifted his gaze from the bread and its bruised berries. Her green eyes searched his own for an answer, but she didn't speak further, simply waiting for him. He sighed. "Or it might be due to our relationship."
She blinked in surprise. "What?"
He didn't want to continue, to speak of their relationship, so he returned to the original subject. "Whatever the cause, you are starting to develop magical...talents of your own. I've seen it twice now, and the first time was not in the carriage."
"It wasn't?" She looked startled, a reasonable reaction, he supposed.
Gently, he lifted her hand, kissing her palm lightly. "At the ball, whenever you were 'in character' – your ridiculous, bubble-headed persona – your face changed just slightly. Not a change of character, a change of appearance. You cast a glamour on yourself, which made others more willing to believe that you were, in fact, a twit. Only Kieran and I saw through that glamour, because we had seen you without it, and we knew that the other was your real face."
She looked surprised, as if she hadn't realized that she'd done that. Likely, it hadn't been on purpose, but she was managing things that most apprentices would have great difficulty with. "Then, in the carriage was that bubble shield. A brilliant piece of work, I might add. It not only shielded us from being impaled, it cushioned us against broken bones as well."
She flushed under the praise, but looked faintly uncomfortable. "Then the reason I was so exhausted afterwards," it was phrased as a question, so he treated it as one.
"Was because you used up quite a bit of energy. As I mentioned regarding the movement and transportation spell, it does require energy to cast any magic. What you did in that carriage was a great deal more difficult than simply casting a glamour, so it stands to reason that you'd be quite tired after," he continued to caress her hand with his own, then chanced a glance at her face.
She was quiet, musing, her thoughts now turned inward. Her hand tightened around his own after a moment, and she stood, tugging him away from the table. He went willingly, if slightly bemused, following her as she led him towards the bed. She sat on the edge of it, looking up at him, her eyes large and strangely vulnerable. "Jareth, why did you bring me into your room?" The question was gently worded but he couldn't help the faint sting of resentment he felt towards her.
"I told you why," he countered.
Sadness that he hated to see flickered into that gaze. He couldn't tear his own away from her, he was pinned, stripped bare before her. The power this woman held over him was maddening. "That's not what I mean. You always slept in my room, you always held me away from you, you never..." Her eyes darted away from his and he knew she was hiding her own emotions from him. "Why now? Why today?"
He sighed, sitting beside her on the bed and catching her cheek gently in his gloved hand. "Darling, you need not look into it. I would simply have you lay with me. I am not asking you to give your pledge to remain at my side, or that you swear you will always be mine. I am not so foolish as that. I am not so naïve."
"Jareth-"
He silenced her with his lips, leaning into her, caressing her hair back from her face. Easily, his fingers found the laces of her corset, loosening them until he could ease the corset over her head. In truth, he wanted her scent on his sheets, at least for a while. A way to further torment himself, he supposed, but he continued skimming her clothing off of her. Once her skin was bare, he tucked her into his bed and stripped himself, climbing in with her.
She had a moonstruck look on her face, her cheeks were softly pink. He lay at her side, on his own, closing his eyes and breathing her scent. "Just rest, precious thing...just sleep..." He wrapped his arms around her, resting his head lightly on her shoulder.
He felt her hesitation, and then, her hand came up, toying gently with his hair, her face turned towards him and he felt her lips graze his forehead. He sighed softly, a smile turning up his lips. "Jareth," her sleepy voice met with his ears and he glanced up at her, finding her eyes half-closed, and knew she was already drifting off. "Don't think...that I'll forget our discussion...just because you're a good kisser..."
He arched a brow. "Only good?"
Even in her tired state, a little lightening flashed in her eyes. "If you have to ask," she yawned mid-sentence, "then I will assume that was a rhetorical question..." Then her eyes slipped closed fully, but her lips let one last word slip free. "Idiot..."
He chuckled softly, nuzzling her soft skin with his cheek and closed his eyes, letting sleep pull him into his grasp as well.
.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.
Bram looked over his small kingship, not really seeing it because he was too lost in thought. He'd always expected betrayal from those closest to him. It was part of the reason he'd refused to acknowledge this son who tried so hard to gain his affection. He intentionally made the boy do things that most people would refuse, put the boy in situations where he could see how deeply those loyalties ran.
This one would have been his last mission. Perhaps his advisers were correct and he was half-mad, but he'd always loved his sons, and Kieran had always been different.
His marriage to the woman who had been his queen had not been because of love, and while he had grown to care for the woman and respect her ability to rule and support him, Kieran's mother had been the woman he had loved. He'd loved all of his sons, but his youngest had been special. He'd never had an issue standing on the field of battle, had hated the Goblin King as much as he, himself, had hated the man. If the man had not struck his beloved down on the field, perhaps he would have never raged against that kingdom so badly.
Then again, perhaps it was his rage against that kingdom, which had caused this. After all, if he had done as he should have and named Kieran his heir after that battle, if he had moved his family and kingdom onwards from the pain of loss...
Perhaps his own son would not have betrayed him for a child.
He closed his eyes, putting a hand to his face. He could tell he still hovered on the edge of madness, but since his son had left, the fury had cooled. He could look back on his actions and, for the first time in many years, see with the clarity that surprised him. He had made too many mistakes handling that boy. "Adaia, what must you think of me...your fool of a king," he breathed, resting his forearms on the balcony.
Was it the shock or grief breaking through to him, he wondered, staring up at the night sky. His orders regarding his wayward son had been to return him and the princess. A girl he'd almost...he squeezed his eyes shut against the peaceful view.
What had happened to him? When had he become so power-hungry that he would try to harm a child, would even think of killing his only remaining son? He ran a hand through his wild hair and lifted his eyes to the sky. The sound of boots behind him drew his attention. He turned and found his master of the guard standing there. "Alastar," he said quietly. "What news?"
The man seemed to measure him for a long moment. Alastar was his lover's brother and he had one of the best military minds in his kingdom. He also had a face that was almost painfully similar to his beloved Adaia. "They have not been captured."
Bram surprised himself by sighing in relief. Obviously, the other man was surprised as well. Gold eyes pierced his own and the king found himself turning away first.
"You...seem pleased by that. Did you not wish revenge for young Kieran's 'betrayal'." The other man seemed to be sizing him up, his lips pulled into a light frown.
Bram gave the man a small, sad smile. "I don't know anymore. There is a part of me that wants to choke him with my own hands," he admitted with a sigh. "However now there is a part that remembers my bright-eyed boy who loved his parents above all else. I am torn, Alastar. He betrayed me, he is on the side of the Goblin King-"
"I think you're mistaken, Bram." Alastar said, his voice as quiet, but firm. Bram looked towards the other man, surprised. Alastar's golden eyes were hooded. "I do not think that he is on the side of the Goblin King at all, I believe they have the same goal, which is why it seems as such."
The king frowned, not liking the fact that his captain interrupted him, but waiting for the man to continue regardless. When the man didn't jump ahead, he prompted, "and that is?"
Alastar turned towards him, those golden eyes saddened, a faint smile on his lips. "Protecting the princess," he said simply. "I was on duty during the ball. I am not blind. He looks at that girl the same way you once looked upon Adaia. He is in love with her. He still loves you, and he hates this betrayal as much as you, but he will defend the woman who holds his heart."
Bram closed his eyes on his friends face, knowing his own showed the grief he felt. "Then what do you recommend, old friend? My kingdom is against him, Fachen has already been named successor after me, what good is finding out these things now?"
Alastar sighed softly. "I know not, my king. Perhaps...if the circumstances were different, then you could go to the Goblin Kingdom and attempt to make amends with your son..."
There was a soft laugh behind him and suddenly, pain exploded in his back. Dumbfounded, Bram opened his eyes, staring into the equally shocked face of his old friend. He coughed and blood splattered Alastar's armor. He looked down, at the blade that had pieced his spine and protruded from his chest. Breath stirred his hair.
"I thought for a moment you were a proper king, Bram. I can see now that I was mistaken..."
He turned towards the voice, finding Fachen there with a glint in his eyes. He tried to speak to his nephew, but only bubbles issued past his lips with a faint wheezing sound.
"Fachen, what have you done?" Alastar sounded horrified.
His vision was going slowly dark. He could still hear the voices of his old friend and his nephew, but he couldn't fully understand the words any longer. His body was going numb, beyond the pain, into a blissful, peaceful oblivion.
"He was weak! So focused on sentimental dreams that he obviously cannot face the reality of the situation he is in. Those mercenaries will have followed my orders and slipped a poisoned blade into those two wretches, and now..." Fachen laughed. "Now this kingdom is mine...and you...will face execution as well..."
Bram thought he felt Alastar's arms around him as the sword was torn from him. Slowly, he slipped to the ground, supported only by his friend. He heard quiet steps moving away from him. He lifted his hand, gripping his friends. He felt the friend gently remove his ring, one bearing the family crest, and heard faint words against his ear.
"I will take this to Kieran." It was a promise between friends, one he knew the honorable Alastar would keep.
Then, the pain was gone, and he felt a soft caress against his face and opened his eyes. Dark hair and light, gold eyes and blue. Lover and wife. They smiled at him, smiles of welcome, and he sighed softly, one final breath as he died.
.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.
Kieran jolted awake, feeling sharp pain in his side and a curious weight on his chest. He breathed sharply, feeling disoriented, laying on his back in a bed that was covered with soft silk. "Where am I," he breathed, looking around the dark room, trying to determine his location.
The weight shifted and he turned, looking at it. His nose filled with hair and he reached up to brush it away, only to wince in pain. "Ow...ow..."
"You shouldn't move. You're still hurt," Erin's voice was near him, and he suddenly identified what exactly was causing that heavy feeling. She shifted away from him, and a warm candle-light glowed nearby. She touched the match to the candle and then, slowly, turned back to him. She looked tired, and her eyes were red, slightly tear-bright. After a moment, she moved towards him again, sitting on the bed beside him, her feet tucked beneath her. "I should go tell dad and mom..."
He had a vague memory of them being found, of leather boots, and of losing consciousness shortly after that. She was still wearing her dusty traveling clothes and there were faint marks where she'd bled. The shirt had several tears along the sleeves. "Erin..."
She gave him a tiny smile and her hand wrapped around his. Then, the smile slipped away and she looked serious. When she looked serious, she looked much older than twelve. "I was worried," she said quietly, her eyes not meeting his. "Even the healer wasn't sure if you were going to make it." Her eyes lifted and he suddenly realized what those red-eyes meant.
Slowly, he lifted a hand, ignoring the pain in his side. With gentle care, he touched the corners of her eyes and felt his heart twist viciously. "I'm alright, Erin," he promised. "I won't leave you."
Her eyes widened and a faint blush colored her cheeks. The lighting was dim enough he could pretend he didn't see it. "Don't disturb your parents just yet. I want more rest before I try to face the world."
She leaned over, blowing out the candle and rather than move away, he felt her weight against him once more. He could feel her shifting a little bit for a few more moments and when she settled, he did as well, turning his face into her hair, not caring that she still smelled like the road and blood. He sighed softly, something in him unraveling, relaxing. For the first time in what felt like ages, he felt him slip off into a sleep that was not plagued by fear or nightmares. He sighed her name softly, and pulled her a little bit closer.