Alrighty, a couple things here. This story takes place like hundreds of years before the movie. I didn't make that really clear, sorry about that. Please forgive me! Second, this chapter took so long because I went to Las Vegas (had a blast by the way). Lastly, this chapter is dedicated to my exboyfriend, for without a little heartacke there would never be any inspiration.
Jareth was exhausted, needless to say, after the day's end. On the fourth floor of his expansive castle he sat relaxed in a warmly lit sitting room; his favorite for it sported his most cherished books, a large sofa, and a fireplace. It wasn't often he found time to relax there, but the whole "goblin problem" had, in its own way, cleared his schedule. So many of the villages around the labyrinth and even in the neighboring provinces were caught up with the growing goblin population, nothing else seemed much to matter. And with a dull smile he realized that was the only reason he was lounging in private with an old history text on his lap. For at least a half hour he had been dozing and not really reading anything, so he had put the book down and merely enjoyed the fire's shadow dance upon the walls. He must have slipped off into slumber though, for a sudden noise caught his attention and he jerked his head up surveying the room. Though the room itself had no windows, an old mantle clock ticked slowly and surely above the fireplace. It was nearly one o' clock and quiet now; his neck hairs bristled. One did not just snap out of a sleep and he narrowed his eyes and extended his essence, the energy that allowed him to use and detect magic, out of the room and did a sweep. There was nothing particularly there…and yet, he reached a little further…there! It was below him, on the third floor, an energy that was unlike any he had sensed; except from one of the slave girls...his heart skipped a beat as an overwhelming emotion of pain and fear washed over him. He pulled back his essence before it could completely consume him and shook his head. What in the Underground was going on?
Though not prone to excessive usages of magic, Jareth transported himself directly to the floor beneath him without a second thought, and the sight at first confused him, and then outraged him. Towering over a lump of shivering cloth (presumably the girl) was a guard pounding a club down against it relentlessly. With an outstretched palm, Jareth lifted his hand up, and with the motion the guard was levitated as well; a look of genuine bafflement crossing his face. The guard took a look around and upon sighting a very furious looking king, dropped his weapon and swallowed hard.
Jareth took a step forward, his face a skilled mask betraying the fire that burned in his eyes. It was one thing he could never quite control, for when he was mad, his eyes glowed. "What are you doing?" He finally mastered to say, each word dripping with ice.
The guard, still suspended in air, tried to bow, "This slave was found escaping the dungeons," at the flare in Jareth's eyes the guard held his tongue.
"There are no slaves in Dorensae," Jareth spat at the guard, who in his own right looked as if he would pass out any second. Very few of the guard had direct dealings with Jareth, it was usually Didymus they made their reports and for that they were all too grateful, for when angered, Jareth was a force to be reckoned with. "What was your reasoning for beating her?" Jareth asked, suddenly more curious than mad.
The guard held his breath for a moment, coming to the conclusion that no matter what he answered the king would be angered, but with courageous resignation he responded, "I gave her an order to stop and she would not obey." He took a risk and continued speaking before Jareth could get in a word, "It was not an excessive step, your Majesty, the guard have frequently beaten intruders before; especially those who were lucky enough to enter the upper floors."
Jareth knew that to be true and slowly some of the fire in his eyes dimmed, some, but not all, for although he could not understand it, the harsh treatment of the poor soul before him concerned him. He gave the guard one last look and then bent down to the girl. He was not a healer, but could sense several "wrongs" with her body. "Can you stand, girl?" His only reply was a painful moan; which he took as a negative sign. Carefully, he tucked his hands under her legs and arms, wrapping the girl in just enough magic to make her weightless, though he might as well have not bothered, for she was featherweight at the most. Oddly enough she pressed her hair covered face against his chest. With a deep sigh Jareth turned from the hall and once again transported; this time to the ground floor. Never once did he look back at the hovering guard.
Ages ago, or so it seemed, Jareth had seen fit to employ a healer for the entire city, for in his eyes Dorensae, and the other villages around the labyrinth didn't pay levies for nothing, and so, he had hired an old healer and housed him in the castle. All who needed his services were welcome and the healer, Zalick, relished the security and honor of such a position. It was in the main chamber that Jareth took them, for Zalick's popularity had grown and he now demanded four seeing rooms whereas one before was sufficient. It wasn't exactly crowded, but there were shelves lining each wall from top to bottom and each shelf supported rows of exotic and strange bottles, some holding liquids, some plants, and in one disturbing case an eyeball. That Jareth overlooked and instead placed the girl on a cot in the middle of the room. If he knew Zalick at all, the old, bent man would be hobbling into the room in just a few seconds. It was one thing that Jareth admired, no matter how busy the healer was (which was doubtful at this time of night); he was never too busy to notice the outside world.
Jareth had just leaned against a desk when the door opened and in came the healer: silver, scraggly hair falling over his spectacled face with each limp. He was hunched over, and no matter what he tried, Zalick was unable to cure it, though somehow it made him more approachable. Zalick pulled at his glasses and made his way to Jareth, eyeing the bundle on the cot. "What have you brought me, hmmm? It must be of some importance if the king himself delivered it." Without a response, Zalick leaned over the girl and hissed in pain. His voice grew soft, "Jareth, without even using the healing magics I can sense much pain in her. It practically radiates from her body! What happened?"
Shaking his head Jareth could only offer, "She was beaten by a guard…there's something about her, Zalick, it confuses my senses, but something…" he paused searching for the word, but Zalick gave a small chuckle.
"That there is, Sire, that there is." He sighed and pushed up his sleeves. "This is going to take a while, I fear." He placed his hands over the girl and concentrated, bringing a small glow to his hands. "Already I can sense broken ribs…a dislocated shoulder…a broken cheekbone…and even some internal damages." He broke the trance. "Leave us, in about an hour's time I shall know more, and then I shall tell you what is so "different" about this one, hmm?" Without waiting for another word, the healer returned to the girl before him. Jareth smiled softly and took a small bow before exiting the room the old fashioned way, through the door.
It wasn't any great surprise to see Didymus casually leaning against a wall when he came out of the healer's room. It was surprising though to see him in his casuals; long, loose breeches of sandy brown and a white flowing shirt topped with a soft leather vest. All in all, they matched, though Jareth had forgone the vest that Didymus wore over the shirt. He approached Didymus, who smiled, a twinkle in his eye.
"So, I was saying to myself, 'The night is still young, my friend Jareth may want a drink before bed,'" at this he proffered a steaming mug, which Jareth accepted with a flourish, "but upon reaching said friend's favorite hiding place I found only emptiness." He took a pause and a sip from his own steaming mug. "Ah, warm ale." He smiled again, drank and then licked his lips. "So, tell me, why is there a guard floating in one of the third halls?"
Jareth nearly laughed, for now that he thought about it, it was an absurd way to leave a man. He closed his eyes for a brief moment and then nodded in satisfaction. "Well, that takes care of that." He said smugly and began walking away, down a hall. He let the mug touch his lips before swallowing the ale and enjoyed the sensation of warm liquid sliding down his throat. "He beat the girl." He said spontaneously as he showed them into a sitting room, one of the more lavish ones with pillows and couches and soft, plush carpet.
Didymus found a lounging chair, "What girl?"
"The one from earlier, she came in with the slaves."
Didymus was quiet for a long moment before clearing his throat. "A slave girl? Was she trying to escape?" Jareth nodded and Didymus found his eyes narrowing. "Then…what's the issue?"
Shaking his head, blond hair swishing softly, Jareth took a deep breath. "You know, I don't know." He found a nice, deep cushioned chair and dropped into it. A small spark lit his eyes and Didymus cringed. A spark like that was always followed by trouble. "Where are the other slaves?" Jareth asked suddenly and Didymus' stomach dropped.
"They're still in the dungeons as far as I know." He replied, pretending to pay careful attention to his mug and not to the king. He was surprised, to say the least at the next words.
"Release them." Jareth commanded clearly.
Didymus sat up straight. "Have you gone mad? Those are Tarrence's slaves," he rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry, servants. He will be livid if we release them."
Jareth nodded, "Yes, I know. That's the idea."
"Are you sure this is wise?" Didymus swallowed, it was difficult to question Jareth's resolve, even after all the years they had been together.
That spark still remained in Jareth's eyes and he smiled broadly. "Oh yes, I'm sure. Give them a room on the third floor. Hold them there until the slaver leaves in the morning…" Jareth smiled again, and once again Didymus found himself cringing. "On second thought, in the morning, when the slaver comes to claim the girls, arrest him and throw him into on the dungeons himself."
Didymus, though he tried, couldn't stop his mouth from dropping open. "You can't be serious…"
"Why not?" Jareth replied taking a good gulp of ale. "He is a slaver, slavery is illegal here. The penalty for slave trafficking is two weeks hard labor." At Didymus' wide eyed expression Jareth laughed. "Oh, I'm not going to keep him there that long. Just long enough to aggravate Tarrence. That little ingrate rubbed me the wrong way." Didymus shook his head and Jareth glowered. "Are you defying me?" He asked dangerously.
"No…no…I'll do it, Jareth. You know I will…it's just…all this for a girl?" The last words almost squeaked out.
With a wave Jareth dismissed the idea. "Not the girl, Didymus. It's principal. I am the king, and I will have my laws obeyed. I don't know why I didn't act before."
"You couldn't risk insulting Tarrence…I still don't think you can." Didymus supplied.
A smile replaced Jareth's frown. "Be that as it may; go, you have much to do before morning, and I believe Zalick will be here shortly." Didymus placed the cup down and stood, giving a small bow before exiting the room. Jareth could tell he wasn't overly pleased, but that wasn't the point. Jareth had prerogative over Didymus' discomfort and right now he wanted nothing more than to irritate the pompous Lord Tarrence. It was small compensation, but it made him smile nonetheless while he waited in the softly lit room for the healer to return.
Zalick called upon the energy within him and concentrated on the girl. After first placing a mild sleep over her, he removed the torn rags that passed for clothing. The damage was much worse than he first thought. Her breathing was ragged and he had pulled back her long hair, wincing at the swollen, bruised face. Even with purpling skin she was beautiful and Zalick shook his head. He did another overview of her injuries, but a deeper probe than before. In his mind's eye he saw all the injuries, and just as quickly he categorized them by importance. There was some internal bleeding in the abdomen that needed tending first, for it was profuse; an early injury by the looks of it.
He placed his hands on her stomach, took a deep breath, and pushed his energies into her body. Carefully, very carefully, he convinced the bleeding to stop; to stop and to repair. The body would do so on its own, but Zalick supplied a little more incentive, and energy. This sped the healing up remarkably and once he was satisfied the bleeding was controlled sufficiently he moved to the girl's chest. One of her ribs had punctured a lung; nastily at that. With a finger, he touched the rib and pushed it back into place, the magic aiding and guiding the bone back into its rightful position. Once the rib was out of his way, he turned his attention to the lung. Lungs were tricky to heal, like delicate tissue they were easily ripped and difficult to mend. He spent a good half hour weaving the lung back into working order before he allowed her body to continue the healing.
With a sigh, Zalick stepped back. That left the shoulder, the cheek, and a few oozing slashes on her back. He scrunched his nose in disgust. Under different circumstances he would leave the back for later, but already he could tell the wounds were infected and he could not risk leaving them unattended for it could possibly turn feverish and spread the infection to the blood. With another sigh Zalick rearranged his glasses and brought his hands to the girl's shoulder. Usually two people were used in returning sockets to their proper place, but Zalick was short handed at one in the morning, so he substituted with magic. He wrapped the shoulder in a web of magic, stood behind the girl and gave a small tug on her arm. The magic did the rest, guiding the shoulder back into socket and immediately began to heal the strained muscles and tendons.
Zalick then turned to her broken cheek. That was the easiest to mend, and with a small wiggle of his fingers, the yellow glow danced upon her face, putting the pieces back together. With the same movement, the bruises dissipated and Zalick found himself intrigued. The girl was stunningly gorgeous. He gave a small "hmmpf" at that and gave a check over the treated body areas. Everything was healing properly…now, only the back remained. He grabbed a clean towel from beneath the bed and draped it over his shoulder. Turning her was going to be problematic, but he did so regardless, carefully though to avoid hurting the healing he had already started.
The gashes on her back were as bad as his senses led him to believe. They oozed with puss and with blood, fresh blood and caked on blood. Shaking his head at the senseless of it, Zalick stumbled over to a water pump and poured some into a large bowl, heating it magically to save time. Though by all accounts he was a skilled healer with an enormous amount of energy dedicated to his art, the healing of this girl was draining on him and he found his limp worsen as he took the few steps back to the table. He was nearly exhausted, but he was stubborn and determined to finish the job. He dipped the towel in the water and began to rinse the cuts. Fatigue must have overcome at one point, for within a few moments all the wounds on the back were cleaned and bandaged, though he had no idea how. It must have been automatic. He shook his head and took a step back, his bad leg protesting against the movement. The girl was sleeping soundly, he was sure of it now. Again he went under the bed and removed a soft blanket that he placed over her. All that was left was to wait and see how she recovered. And to inform Jareth, a nagging little voice said in his head. Zalick nearly groaned, but turned from the room and slowly limped down the hall, not humored by the fact that Zalick, the Great Healer, could save that girl but was powerless to stop his own suffering.
Well? Whatdya think? The end was a little rushed, I was getting tired. Next chapter she gets to wake up, promies ;)